


Handprints

by exileandtrust



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Not Beta Read, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, some people make soulmate aus to cope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29455623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exileandtrust/pseuds/exileandtrust
Summary: You gave up on finding your soulmate years ago. There was no reason to even try.So, he found you.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Reader, Optimus Prime/You
Comments: 53
Kudos: 107





	1. Glitched

**Author's Note:**

> My friend encouraged me to get this out on Valentines day so here I am. 
> 
> This fic is intended to start in season one, very shortly after the show has started. After that, all bets are off. It will be highly canon divergent. 
> 
> If you’re using a (Y/N) replacer extension: I don’t use (Y/N) to signify ‘your name,’ I use five underscores like so: _____. This can be used to represent whatever name you go by, be it a first, last, or middle name. I may change this later. We’ll see. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Enjoy.

“You need to get out more.”

“No, I don’t.”

You threw the last of the ingredients into the pot for tonight. A simple stew, something your roommate, Alice, would be able to reheat for weeks. 

She pouted with her pink, glossed lips, and leaned against the counter. She was a tall blond girl with spray tanned skin, and a smile that melted even the hardest hearts out in the desert. 

“Seriously, you’re never gonna be able to meet your soulmate if you don’t get out more!” 

“I’m not going to meet him anyway.” You ripped open a packet of bullion with your teeth and dumped it in. “And besides, I’m getting out tonight.”

“Ugh that smells good- Wait where?” 

“I’m going to the museum,” you said with a hint of pride. 

“The museum,” she repeated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s out! What’s the problem?” You shrugged on your coat and grabbed your keys. “Leave that on high for two hours, and then set it on warm until you eat it.” 

“No, no, no, we’re not done having this conversation.” She pushed a well-manicured nail out into your face. Her hands smelled like that girly lotion she always used, sickly sweet, but men seemed to gravitate towards it. 

Alice, unlike you, had a rich and colorful social life. Like many others her age, she flocked to the soulmate clubs religiously, in search of whoever’s handprint she had. 

The small town only had one club, but it was the most hopping place to be on any night of the week. 

In this world, your only guide to a soulmate was an ink black mark where they would first touch you. If it were truly them then mark would disappear. Some people were lucky. They had was a palm mark on their hands. Or something that could be covered up. Others had ink black marks on their cheeks and neck. Others still had no mark at all. 

You were even unluckier than the unmarked. 

“You want to know why I don’t go to those clubs, or do those meetups, or those parties?” 

“Because you hate loud music?”

“Okay- That too, but it wouldn’t be any use.” You laughed, but the sound was strained by the back of your throat. “There’s, really no point.” 

Alice pursed her pink lips with sympathy. “Oh _____, honey. I know it seems like it takes people so long but seriously! You’ll find him-“

“No,” you said sharply, “I won’t.” 

“Look.” Alice lifted her cream tank top to reveal a pair of splayed-out handprints on her abdomen, right beneath her rib cage. “This is a super weird place, so I don’t show everyone, but like, I know he’s out there. And I just get this feeling that like, he’s going to catch me someday. That’s when it’ll happen.”

She lowered her shirt again and smiled. Genuinely this time. But you were not so impressed. 

“Fine.”

On the fifth floor you were not exactly worried about peepers. You pulled up the back of your shirt, to reveal a massive mark. 

The first touch of your soulmate extended up the entirety of your back, the length of your arms, on the underside of your legs, and wrapped around again to the front. You had given up wearing shorts, or dresses, or anything that showed even a portion of your back since it manifested. You didn’t want any questions about it. You hated the looks people gave you, like the one Alice had now. 

Alice’s mouth remained wide open until she shut it with a snap. You pulled your shirt back on with a huff. 

“That’s why, okay. I’ve got a glitch or something.” 

“Oh my gosh, _____ I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

You held up a hand to cut her off. You had maybe shown your mark to three other people in your life since your reveal party. And you hated every time you did it. The reactions had varied, from anger, to laugher, to pity. Somehow pity was the most grating. 

“You didn’t know, it’s okay. Just, go easy on me. Alright?”

She swallowed thickly and nodded. Her blue eyes were a little glossier than they had been before.

“Two hours on high, then warm.”

“Got it,” she said quietly.

* * *

The base was silent. Perfect for Ratchet’s work as he narrowed down on the signal. He bit his glossa between his teeth, his optics narrowed at the frequency on screen. He was only a hair away now from combing out the noise from it. 

Optimus was not far off, watching the screens with an equal intensity. 

Miko was the only one brave enough to approach the two, even as Jack frantically signaled for her not to. 

“Heyyy whatcha doing?” 

Ratchet jumped, which resulted in him biting down on his own glossa with a yelp. He answered her with a glare and turned back to his work. 

“Woah, jumpy.”

“We are seeking a map,” Optimus said simply. “It appears to have come back online, currently we are trying to narrow down its location.” 

“Map? To a treasure? Or a ship? Or some kind of really cool sword? Can Ratchet use swords? Did the decepticons get the signal too? Will there be a fight? Can I watch?” 

“We’re busy,” Ratchet snapped. “Shoo.” 

Dejected but not defeated, Miko rolled her eyes and stormed off. 

The children had been a mixed blessing to the base in the short while they had been there. Optimus believed their presence did far more good than harm for the team. Bumblebee in particular benefitted from a peer. His doorwings always perked up when he saw Rafael. Likewise, the boy was always happy to see him. And though Arcee did her best to conceal it, he could tell she was pleased to have Jack as a companion. 

Optimus kept his hands at his sides as he watched Ratchet work. One hand was slightly out-turned, enough for Jack to spot the brushed grey coloring on it. Lighter than his other palm. 

“Aha- Got it.” 

Ratchet pointed to a blinking light on the map, Nevada. 

“It’s in the local museum.” Ratchet scratched his helm. “That can’t be right.” 

He typed furiously and re-ran his scans. The same light popped up. Stubbornly unmoved. 

“That’s definitely where it’s at. How did we not see it before?” Ratchet mused. 

Optimus stared at the coordinates. They were close. Exceptionally close. Close enough that he could not dismiss the possibility that it had been planted. 

“Excellent work, old friend. We will retrieve it tonight. Bulkhead, Arcee, with me. Bumblebee, you will stay here in case backup is required.” 

There was a resounding ‘yes sir.’

* * *

It was already six by the time you made it to the museum. The parking lot was empty as usual. But tonight was special for you, even if it wasn’t to anyone else. 

The museum in Jasper was not large enough to host entire galleries, but the newspaper always listed when something came into town. It was a place that held oddities of every kind, but they boasted a unique literary display. They would receive the original manuscripts to books, make copies, and then allow visitors to read them. 

You hurried to the museums humble entrance with a warm feeling. 

The security guard was waiting as usual. A stout man with grey and black hair. He tipped his hat and opened the door for you. 

“Evening Miss _____.”

“Evening, Mr. Gardener.”

“Don’t you have something more fun to do on a Friday night?”

“Can’t think of anything,” you said with a small laugh. 

He shook his head with a grin. “Kids like you need to be having more fun.”

“I know, Mr. Gardener.” 

“You’re the most boring generation!” He called after you. 

“I know!” You called back. 

The literary section was in the very back. A small room with several independent displays. It was dim and quiet in there. Not even the noise from the highway could reach it. 

Each glass case had the original manuscript displayed and protected, and beneath it was a shelf full of copies to peruse. You weaved between the cases until you found it. An unassuming bronze tag affixed to a post in front of a loosely bound stack of papers: 

**Perelandra, C.S. Lewis. Drafted in the 1930’s to 1940.**

It was the second book in the Space Trilogy, and it described a version of Eden on the planet Venus. Many a night you had spent curled up by your window, completely transfixed by the world described on those pages. 

It would have been impossible to read an entire manuscript in one sitting, so you had written down the rough page numbers that you were curious to see the original draft for. You slid a copy out and began to flip through it. 

Whenever you read a good book, you loved to do this. Seeing the drafts, the scratch marks, the cursive written off into the margins, the bad white out jobs, it reminded you that every beautiful thing you cherished was once a work in progress. 

And perhaps that is where you were. Perhaps your margins were still being written on, and your typos ironed out with a red pen.

* * *

The sun had long since set outside the museum, but the bots remained. Arcee was parked by the back door, leaned behind a garbage can and the wall. Bulkhead was on the west side, beside the other service vehicles. 

Optimus took a space at the front. His voice sounded over the comm link. “We will attempt to secure the map after the museum closes. Until then, we will guard it.”

“Guard it?” Arcee said. “Have the cons already found it?” 

“I am uncertain. However, given the map’s importance, I am not willing to risk losing it.” 

Bulkhead rolled back and forth on his wheels. “Uh. How long do we have to wait until this place closes?” 

“Why?” Arcee piped. “You got plans?” 

“Kinda. Miko and I are gonna watch those Godzilla movies later.” 

“The ones on DVD?” 

“Yeah. She bought me the whole boxed set last week.” 

“You know you can play those anytime, right? They’re like data disks.” 

There was a long pause over the comm link. 

“I know,” he said, almost sheepishly. 

“Decepticon signal heading straight for you,” Ratchet interrupted. 

“How many?” 

“Just one.”

* * *

The book was fantastic, but you were starting to see the true power of editing. The handwriting was the biggest issue though. You were stuck on one note written on the side. The cursive was an older style, and you were not entirely sure if you were looking at ‘purry’ or ‘furry.’ 

The ground shook slightly. Enough to make some of the glass cases rattle. 

You stayed glued to the manuscript, trying to differentiate the letters. 

Then another. 

With some annoyance, you lowered your book. 

Something silver was heading towards the museum’s front windows. You narrowed your eyes at it, certain it was just eye strain playing tricks on you or a reflection from the television. 

It kind of looked like a jet engine’s speeding nose heading right for the building, and it’s engines were close enough to make the floor vibrate. 

Mr. Gardner squinted at it. “What the hell - Take cover!” 

All the glass exploded at once. 

The jet engine stopped, and began to break down, or rather change? You were not entirely sure what you were watching as the silver plane became a giant silver. Man? And your hyperventilating was not helping anything. 

“Call the police- Call the FBI – Call in the air force-!” 

Mr. Gardener made a run for the phones, but the silver man stabbed a talon like claw down in front of him before he could get very far. 

“Oh, don’t make any more humans come here. You see, I have a reservation.” 

With one finger, he flicked Mr. Gardener hard enough to thud against the wall and fall into the broken glass. 

“Mr. Gardener!” You screamed, but it was a mistake. 

The silver man’s red eyes stared holes down at you, until his faceplate curled with a cat-like smile. 

You felt your heart stop. 

The metal man was getting closer, and you realized just how large he was. Each step rattled the floor, which you now realized you were sitting and half-laying on, and his shadow stretched long in the moonlight. Only those glowing eyes were visible. 

Your voice failed to give you anything meaningful, or witty. Only hallowed noises came out. You scrambled to put any distance between yourself and the inevitable, but your hands slipped on the tile and glass and left you nowhere. 

He extended a single talon towards your throat. 

“Tell me where th-“ 

His side exploded into sparks. He screamed and skittered backwards. 

Another metal man stood where the other had entered. The occasional spark from the destroyed lighting was enough to illuminate him for brief bursts. 

He was red, and blue, and his optics burned white hot. 

“Prime.” The silver one growled, but he would not be deterred. He snatched you by the back of your shirt, dangling you the way one might hold a dirty Kleenex. 

Screams like bloody murder ripped through your throat. You squirmed and kicked and fought desperately for foothold as your shirt collar threatened to choke you. 

He dangled you even higher, until you were nearly touching the ceiling. 

The red one’s eyes narrowed. 

“Let her go.” 

“Mmm. Let’s trade. The map for the human.” 

You tugged at your own collar, choking, and stared pleadingly at the other metal man. Frustrated tears ran down your face and blurred your vision.

“H-Help,” you managed through choked breaths. 

“The map,” Starscream reiterated. “I won’t make this offer again. One,” he said slowly. “Twwwoooo, oh- Prime don’t make me get to three.” 

The metal man’s eyes were wide and staring right at you. 

“H- Help me!” 

“This is on you then. _Three_.” 

Your collar loosened from your neck. That was nice. You could breathe again. Unfortunately, you were also now hurtling towards the ground.

Before you could hit the ground, something enveloped the entirety of your back and curled around your waist and legs. 

Metal scraped against the museum floors as the red one came to a stop on the other side of Starscream. 

He held out his other hand, but it seemed to flip in on itself and become a pair of ping silver tubes with a blue charge. It gave a distinctive whine before firing, one shot after the other, at Starscream. 

Each shot lit up the entire space with blue and left a searing mark on the walls. But each one missed the agile silver man. The seeker flipped, folded back into a jet, and blasted off, kicking loose paper and debris up in his wake. 

The red one seemed satisfied with this. His gun became a hand again, and he slowly lowered it. 

“Secure the map. Ratchet, prepare a bridge back to base immediately.” 

Then he turned his attention to you. 

Unfortunately, you had passed out completely cold sometime after being caught. Your psyche really could only take so much in one day. You were completely limp in his hand. 

“Please bring Nurse Darby.”

* * *

Bleary eyes stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was brown, and textured. But you could not figure out if it were extremely close or very far away. 

A woman in green scrubs hovered over you. She had black hair and a kind but tired expression. 

“How are you feeling?”

You did a small mental check. Yep, you still had all your limbs, and all your fingers. Your head did feel slightly sore, which explained why you remembered seeing giant fighting robots. You must have fallen off the bench or fallen asleep at the museum. 

“I’m good.” You up and hopped off the bed without any protest. “I um, I have to go. I don’t have good insurance....” 

Your sentence trailed off as you saw five pairs of glowing white eyes stare at you, each belonging to a metal titan like the ones from before. 

Your knees threatened to give out, and you leaned against the bed. Your knuckles turned white around the railing. 

“Where—“

“Calm down,” the woman stepped in front of you, and held your shoulders. “You’re safe here, it’s fine.” 

“Let go of me.”

“I can’t do that until I’m sure you’re not going to fall,” she said sternly. 

“I’m fine.” 

You peered around her head to see the Titans once again. Even though they were all inorganic, each one had a markedly distinct look. And one of them appeared extremely feminine. 

“I’m fine,” you assured the nurse. “I’m _____, uh- Who are all of you?”

“I’m June, June Darby.” She released your shoulders slowly.

The metal man from before stepped forward. Now that you could see his face, it was extremely alien and smooth, but there were undeniably human features on it somehow.

He was smiling. The kind that reached his eyes, or whatever they were. 

“Hello, _____.”

His voice reminded you of a distant thunderstorm, grey cloudy days spent beside the window watching the winds pick up. But he continued before you could fully process it. He gestured to the Titans standing behind him. 

“I am Optimus Prime, and these are the autobots. Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Arcee, and Ratchet.” 

As he said each one’s name, they gave a small nod and a wave, except for Ratchet, who just glanced at you from his place in front of the console with disgust. 

There was no way you were going to remember that, so you nodded with a faraway stare. 

“It’s uh, very nice to meet all of you?”

It came out sounding more like a question than you anticipated. 

“So, you guys are aliens? Right?”

“No, we crawled out of the deep sea,” Ratchet said with a sigh. “Of course, we’re not from here.” 

“What he means to say,” Optimus interjected, “Is yes. We come from Cybertron, a planet far from here. We were chased to Earth by Decepticons, others of our species who follow the corrupted Megatron.”

So many words. Still, you nodded. As much as you loved Men In Black, you never expected to be living in it. 

“We fight to defend Earth, our new home.”

“Alien war, got it.”

He seemed as though he wanted to elaborate but thought better of it. 

The one named Ratchet held your phone out to you between his massive fingers. 

“I’ve upgraded it to have signal everywhere, and I’ve uploaded our contact information. Don’t ever call me though.” 

You took the little phone into your palms. That seemed random. 

“Wow- Thank you.”

“It was nothing. Your technology is astoundingly primitive, the hard part is knowing which poisoned rock is the right one.” 

You tapped the screen a few times to wake it up. Sure enough, you had four bars. 

“Thank you. Also, um— Is there a bathroom in this place?”

Nurse Darby was kind enough to lead you to a restroom, where you did your business, but you noticed something. 

Your marks. The handprint. It was gone. 

You stared at the empty space on your body with a dry mouth. 

Completely gone. 

Your trembling fingers experimentally poked the flesh where it had been, and when it did not reappear, you pinched it just to make sure. 

It was still gone, and there was only one person- or thing that could have done that. 

It had not been a glitch. It was a fluke. 

You burst out of the bathroom with your shirt and pants still disheveled, and your eyes burning with tears. 

The team stared at you, but Optimus was the first to speak. 

“_____?” 

You raised a trembling finger at him. “Y— You.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard it regardless. 

Somehow, he understood exactly what you meant. 

“We should discuss this elsewhere,” he said gently. 

You nodded, and quickly smoothed your clothes out in a futile attempt to look a little less crazy. Arcee did not look convinced. 

Optimus led you down the corridors of the missile silo. The walk was harrowing. You demanded to follow him from a large distance, terrified of one of those massive legs coming down on you. 

He brought you to the doors of a massive loading bay and led you inside. From what it looked like at your meager height; you could tell it was a bedroom. Albeit a rather empty one. 

Save for the berth and a desk with data pass stacked on it the room was devoid of anything that might have given you some insight into him. 

He reached for something on a shelf you could not see and set down a wooden bench. 

“I apologize, I do not have humans on here often.”

You wiped your face on your sleeve and managed a watery laugh. 

“It’s fine.” 

You sank onto the bench and held your head in your hands. By now, the typical headache you got after a bitter cry had started. 

“Look— I am, quite frankly, scared out of my mind, and I just want to go home. I’m not mad that this whole - soulmate thing or whatever didn’t work out. I’m just. I’m very tired.” 

“I see.” 

His voice was a lot closer this time, and quieter. You hazarded a look, to find that he was now standing at a mere 10 feet, but he kept a respectful distance. 

His expression was unreadable to you. 

“You don’t, you don’t have to pity me. Ever since I got my glitched mark I knew it wasn’t going to end well for me. So just save it.”

He placed his hands on his hips. His figure had a lithe quality to it now that you were looking properly. Then again, he was a robot. And an alien. Something was probably wrong with you. 

“You have not asked for my assessment of the situation.” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you. 

“... What do you think?”

Think? Was that even the right word? 

His head tilted ever so slightly. 

“I do not find this to be a ‘glitch’ of fate.”

He held out his left hand. It was a black metal, with scuffs deep enough to wear the paint down to a silver. 

He traced the edges of it. 

“My species lifespan allows us to find multiple ‘soulmates,’ though not of the human variety. For us, we have deep lasting friendships, ‘lingerers,’ until we meet the one who resolves our last marking. Our ‘finality.’”

There was a mournful look in his eyes for a moment. 

“This hand was my last marking. As I made yours disappear, so you did to mine.”

This metal man had said ‘eons,’ and the tone of his voice made you believe it. A steadiness, a self-control. It was as though you were a little planet caught in the orbit of a star in that moment. Living in its warmth, but never being able to see deeper than its surface. 

Your hand shook as you reached for his palm and brushed your fingers against the metal. He stood completely still as you examined it. It was warmer than you expected, far warmer. 

It felt alive. 

“I will not force you into anything, nor do you need to choose right now.”

“You don’t even know me,” you breathed. 

“Nor you, I. But this is solved with time, and patience.”

“I’m not even your species!”

“It does not bother me.”

Your mouth threatened to run dry of objections, so the last bitter thing fell out instead. 

“I’m damaged goods,” you spat. “I wasn’t some good girl who was ready to wait around and... I paid the price for it.”

“You are not to me.”

His optics were sincere, but his smile was somehow deeply sad. There it was again. The feeling of orbiting this star. Except you were just earth and water, and here was aether. Aether that glowed despite everything and told you that it still wanted to know you. Every self-defense your heart had fell flat in that moment, and it took your pride on the way down. 

“I will not lie to you. Any affiliation with me has the potential to endanger your life.” 

Your hand fell away. Of course, it did. And not the least of which was being stepped on. 

“I - I’ll have to think about it,” you said quietly. 

“I understand.” 

“I just- want to go home.”

He shook his helm. 

“Now that you have been seen with me, your life is at risk. It is possible Starscream will attempt to track you down.”

The thought of the silver man finding you again was enough to bring you a pause, but you cleared your throat. 

“No. You can’t say you’re going to give me some time to think about this and then force me to stay here. I’m going home.” 

“I am afraid I cannot let you do that.”

“You don’t have to let me do anything.” You turned away on your heel and headed back to the central hub. 

Ratchet paid you no mind as you entered, a full-sized Optimus trailing behind you. 

“Optimus, we’re almost finished repairing the map.” 

“Good work, old friend.” 

“_____, a word?” 

You glanced over your shoulder. A man in a suit that said government all over it stood. He held a folder in one arm. 

Slowly you turned back from the bridge. 

“I’m Agent William Fowler, I’ve been assigned specifically to the autobot case. If you’d follow me.” 

Fowler led you to a room off the central hub. The walls and lighting reminded you of the interrogation rooms in those action movies. 

“Take a seat.” 

“I’d rather stand.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

He dropped the folder on the table before sitting with a groan. Casually he started browsing through it. A picture of you leaving your apartment this morning slipped out. 

“_____ _____, age __.” He read off. All correct. “No living relatives or family, no next of kin. Is that right?” 

“Yes,” you said slowly. 

“And you work for a hardware store’s headquarter offices doing inventory assessment?” 

“Yes,” you said again. Annoyance beginning to slip into your voice. “What else do you have on me? Know about my middle school crush?” 

“Alex? Yeah.” 

You shut your mouth with a snap. 

“But we’re not here to talk about the past.” He slipped a thick packet out of the file and a pen from his shirt and slid them both over to you. “I wanna talk about the future.” 

After your conversation with Optimus, ‘future’ rang in your head like a curse. “What of it?” 

“You know about the presence of alien life on earth, and their cooperation with the US government. That makes you a possible liability to national security.” 

“That’s a lot of big words. Which agency are you from? CIA? FBI? Oh no- Let me guess, X-Files?” 

Fowler looked at with exasperation. “None of those, and they don’t pay me enough to deal with crappy attitudes either.” 

Now you were interested. 

“Who do you work for?” 

“That information is classified.” He flipped the packet to the last page. “I need you to sign this.”

Slowly you sat down and began to leaf through the packet. Words like ‘felony offense’, ‘termination’ and ‘containment’ jumped out at you. From what you skimmed it seemed like the standard, ‘if you tell anyone about this, we have to kill you.’ 

“What happens if I don’t sign these?” 

“Well, you get free housing and food for life. In the Panopticon.” 

You took that to mean super jail. 

“Awesome,” you said bitterly. 

The room seemed too bright, and too quiet. The antiseptic smell threatened to bring on a wave of nausea. 

Agent Fowler sat with his arms crossed. Tired, but patient. 

“Feel free to read as much as you want.” 

“I’ve seen enough.” 

With little choice you signed your freedom away. 

Fowler led you out of the room and back to the common area. The kids had long since gone home, and the only ones left were Optimus and Ratchet. There were no protests as you crossed the ground bridge. 

Optimus watched you disappear with a guarded expression, but you had nothing to say to one another. 

You appeared back in your dark, empty apartment, as though you had never left.


	2. Close Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have posted this earlier but we got caught in the storm of the century here. We had on and off power (which took our wifi with it) for several days. Writing helped me keep my mind off the whole thing. Luckily, I think we’re all in the clear now. 
> 
> Stay warm my friends, and thank you for reading. Enjoy.

996, ... 997, .... 998, .... 

At four AM there was little else to do but count the number of times the ceiling fan spun around. 

You laid with your arms stretched out in the dark. Every-time you closed your burning eyes, you could see those red optics staring down at you, and Optimus’ warning rang in your head. 

_”Any affiliation with me has the potential to endanger your life.”_

Newsflash! You had been in danger before you even met him! 

But it was difficult to stay angry. As weird as it was, you felt a small pang of sympathy for him. He had not exactly asked to be stuck on an alien world either. 

But it was still so _weird_. He was so alien, so completely unlike you in any way besides having two arms and two legs. And a face you supposed. But still, how could he be your soulmate? 

Despite your mark disappearing you still felt as though all of this had been some glitch. It did not make any sense. 

You could not see yourself marrying him. Much less even hugging him. And, how would you? Your hair would probably get caught in his joints or something. Kissing was absolutely off the table. 

But what about dating? Could you ever go on a normal date with him? Even if he became smaller, you could not exactly sneak a 10-foot-tall alien robot into a diner for a milkshake. Could he even have human food? 

Conversations with him were strange enough as it was. His voice had been wonderful to listen to, but he said the strangest things. And he sounded so sad. It was like speaking to a mountain and trying to understand what it knew about the world it had watched for centuries. 

More questions than answers shot off in your mind. 

The clock read 4:22 AM. 

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. 

When the morning finally came, you pretended nothing happened. 

You wore clothes that covered all the same places, not that you had a selection of anything else. You made a mental note to go shopping later. Even if your experience with your handprint owner had been somewhat terrifying, you could not deny excitement at the prospect of wearing things other than turtlenecks and jeans. 

In the kitchen, Alice was already dressed and making toast. A respectable pantsuit for a lawyer’s secretary. 

“Hey girl! You were gone a long-time last night.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Meet a cute guy at the museum?”

You laughed, but the sound was more bitter than you intended. Alice raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really tired.” 

“Are you okay?” 

She was so genuine, even if she was a bit of an air headed valley girl. The last of your resentment ebbed away. 

“I’m fine, — I’m sorry.” You grabbed a lunch and filled a thermos with stew. “I’ve got to get going.” 

“Okay girl, you take care.”

You raised the thermos at her as you slipped out. “You too.”

She watched you a moment longer than she needed to. 

The dark circles under your eyes spared you the prods of your coworkers, and you were able to sit in your cube and work in peace. 

Except, you barely got anything done. The words were blurry on screen. Your mind was elsewhere. 

Humans had made first contact a while ago, and the government was hiding it. That was disturbing. For one, that the government was competent enough to keep something that big a secret. You briefly wondered if the funds that would have made the DMV run faster were being sucked out by this alien nonsense. 

Moreover, you had signed a 100+ page packet saying who knew what, to an unknown agency. As far as you knew, you had just signed away your right to shower. 

And two, a whole war. 

These robots had brought an entire species-wide war to your little planet. A planet that was relatively defenseless. You had gotten a taste of what the Titans were capable of, who knew what kind of technology they were harboring. It made your breath catch to think how many times the world could have ended, and you had no idea. 

And the alien world Optimus had spoken of. Cybertron. This meant that space, which you admired, was far livelier than you could have ever imagined. 

Each prick of light in the sky was possibly another solar system like yours, with calm planets spinning around it. Perhaps a little green man who also worked a cubicle job was looking up at your distant sun and wondering the same. Wondering what eyes were turned heavenward and reaching for solidarity in this existence. _Life_ was out there. 

Life that apparently wanted to kill you. 

All of these were problems above your pay grade. You rubbed your temples. This work was not going to do itself. 

Days stretched on in this cycle. Wake up from barely sleeping, go to work and ask yourself the same questions, come home and then do it all again. 

The week was over before you could properly process it.

* * *

Ratchet rubbed his temples. He wished this work would just do itself. 

Beside the monitor was a small- well, small compared to himself, golden cube with several wires hanging out of it. Each one trailed to the computer. 

Raphael sat a fair distance from it, his own laptop hooked into a terminal. 

The two of them had been after it every moment they got, save for Raf’s sleep and schooling schedule. Much to Ratchet’s annoyance. 

“It’s like it’s lost or something,” he mused. “Like it still thinks it’s near Cybertron.” 

“That’s impossible.” Ratchet tapped the top of it. “It’s equipped with a subspace navigator. It’s accurate to the nanometer, and nothing could set it off course except for a gamma-thoron burst.” 

Raf looked up from his laptop. 

“Gamma-thoron, as in, what pads the tunnels of an active groundbridge?”

“Or spacebridge,” Ratchet breathed. His eyes lit up, and he began to type furiously. “Megatron’s failed attempt to bring an undead army to earth blew up the bridge. That would have created enough gamma-thoron to disrupt the cube, even if it was buried underground on earth!” 

Rafael’s eyes were wide and curious as he leaned over the railing. “How do we fix it?” 

Ratchet shook his helm. 

“It’s a very delicate procedure, luckily, I’ve got the right tool.” 

He brought his hand down on the top of the device with a bang. 

The console glitched for a moment, and then displayed a holographic earth.

[ LOCATION SENSORS REINITIALIZED ]

“That should do it.”

Raf could not help a small giggle. 

The earth jolted and rotated, and then two points appeared on the map. One off the coast of Ireland, and the other in the Arctic Ocean. There were labels on each one in Cybertronian, and at the very top of the map. 

“Optimus!” Ratchet called out. “We’ve got coordinates!”

Optimus looked up from his datapad. 

The top of the map read, ‘Psi project,’ and he felt a cold sting deep in his spark. 

He leaned in close to the console, his eyes scanning over every line underneath. The data was mostly corrupted, leaving some characters to be nearly unreadable, but what he could read left little room for debate. 

The Psi project was a bomb. 

One that could feasibly rip the earth in half.

* * *

The sky was dark by the time you were scuttling out of the office doors again, and cold. Your breath turned into clouds as soon as it hit the air. 

_”Billie Jean is not my lover, she’s just a girl who claims that I am the one-“_

You slipped your phone out of your pocket with your numb hands and took the call. 

“Hello?”

“Hey girl! You, me, tonight. Dinner out.”

“What happened to the stew?” 

“It’s lovely and amazing and wonderful, but I just wanna take you out sometimes!”

Being out sounded about as attractive as being sunk into a tar pit, but it was probably exactly what you needed. 

“Okay,” you said defeatedly. “I’m almost home.” 

“Great! — Why do you sound winded?” 

“I’m walking back.” 

“You don’t have a car?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll see you later.” 

Alice took you to the nicest restaurant in town, which was a cheesy Italian restaurant with vinyl tablecloths. Nevertheless, as the smell of garlic bread and the crackling sounds of Frank Sinatra filtered through the radio, it was exactly where you needed to be. It was easy to let your jaw unclench, and your shoulders relax. 

“Don’t you have to go to the club tonight?”

Alice tilted her head with a small wink. “If my soulmate is there, he’ll be back tomorrow.” 

The waiter, a short, pudgy young man with thick glasses led you to a table in the back. 

You both ordered your usuals and settled in with some reheated breadsticks. 

“So,” Alice said, pulling it apart with her fingers. Her nails had been redone. They were now a vibrant shade of red, sparkly red. The color made a knot tie up in your stomach. 

You had avoided thinking about that day ever since you got off work, but like the game, you were almost destined to lose.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Your eyes snapped up. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I was saying, I drove by the museum, and it was a complete wreck!” She pointed a piece of bread at you. “I didn’t see anything on the news about it either, which like, I can’t believe! Were you there when that happened? That looked insane!” 

You swallowed. The contract. What were you allowed to say? Yeesh you really should have read it. 

“Uh- No, I- I wasn’t there.” 

“Thank God- Seriously girl. But why wasn’t it on TV?” 

You were thankful she seemed to move on before scrutinizing you too much. 

“This is a small town, what else is there to broadcast except the high school football game or the mayor’s hangnail? Ugh.”

“Yeah. Jasper must seem pretty boring compared to LA.”

“No kidding.” She shrugged. “But the people are nice.”

She leveled her gaze at you, and you felt a new wave of itchiness under your collar. 

“So, I know maybe, this is touchy. But a few days ago when you bent over the sink, your sweater rode up a little and I saw your mark was gone.” 

The color drained from your face. 

She held up a hand. 

“It’s none of my business, so- If you don’t want to talk that’s fine. But like. I’m dying to know what the story is.” 

Your eyes drifted down. What could you say? What couldn’t you say? 

“He .... caught me.” Not a total lie. “That’s why the mark was so big.”

“Caught you?”

“Like... Rescued me.” 

She sucked in a sharp gasp. “So you _were_ at the museum when it got wrecked!” She leaned in close. “Why are they covering it up? Why didn’t you stay with him? What the heck is going on?”

You shifted slightly, unsure of what all you could say. 

“Look it’s, it’s a really long story.” 

“Did this guy- Did he save your life?”

You glanced up at her. 

He had saved your life, and now that your tired brain thought about it, you had not actually thanked him. You had been so wrapped up in being hurt about what fate had handed you, that you had neglected to show him any form of decency. 

“Yes” you rubbed your arms, “But it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean ‘complicated?’” 

“We’re really not compatible-“ you stopped yourself. The contract. The photograph. Who knew who was listening in to you right now? You cleared your throat. “It’s almost like we’re different species.” 

“So, you’re totally different, so what?” 

“Huh?”

She took your hands between her own. 

“My mom and dad were soulmates, but they almost left each other for good. Like they used to throw dishes and stuff, it was intense. But when I visited them a year weeks ago, they were so peaceful. Matching sweaters and stuff, like totally disgusting. So, I asked her, how did we go from setting things on fire like psychos to this?”

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay they didn’t like, actually set anything on fire. But she told me, ‘the handprint doesn’t lead you to a garden, it leads you to good soil.’” She tapped a nail on the table. “She said, ‘Together, work to make flowers grow there.’”

Your eyes widened.

“That was, strangely beautiful.”

She laughed. “I know right.”

“I... I’ll talk to him again.” 

“When did you find him?” 

You pushed your fingers together. “Uh, last week.” 

“Then what are you doing here?! You found him- _the_ him! Go and get your man girl!” 

“It’s not- It’s not that simple,” you groaned, but she was already pushing you out of your chair. 

“No- Get your stuff to go and get out of here! I don’t wanna hear it! Okay- Later I want to hear about it like, all the nasty details, but seriously go!” 

You stumbled into the cold Nevada night with a warm bag of Italian food in your arms. Beside the building was a small alleyway so you ducked into it. 

Slowly, you raised the phone to your ear. 

“I told you not to call me,” Ratchet growled, but it was halfhearted. “Well, what is it?” 

“I’m, I’m really sorry for bothering you but, could you like, send me a ride?” 

“We’re busy.” 

“Ratchet,” you pleaded, “I need to talk to Optimus. It won’t take long.”

“Why can’t you just call him?” 

“It’s important. I want to talk to him face to face.”

“Ugh. Fine.” 

Green light erupted at the end of the alleyway. 

“What is that?” 

“It’s a groundbridge,” he said exasperatedly. “Just walk into the light and you’ll be at the base.” 

You swallowed. Climb into the giant glowing alien portal thing. Right. 

“Thanks Ratchet…” 

He made a ‘hrmph’ noise and hung up.

* * *

It had been a week since you had last been there, and the base was humming with activity when you stepped in. Bulkhead was moving cubes of something glowing, Ratchet was absorbed in his computer, and Arcee and Bumblebee walked past you, deep in conversation. Though you did not know what about. 

Three human kids peered over the first tier. A girl with pink tipped ponytails, a tall boy with dark hair, and a young boy who had to peer over the second rail. 

The girl’s eyes widened. 

“Woah! I’m Miko! Who are you? Why are you here? Are you a federal agent? CIA? NSA? NASA? FBI? Are you really a human? Is that food? Can I have some? Didn’t Jack’s mom meet you? Do you like trucks?” 

“In due time, Miko.” 

Optimus entered, his armor looked more scuffed than usual, and the bright red you remembered was noticeably less lustrous. Not that you knew him or his species that well, but you were pretty good at picking up when people did not take care of themselves. 

Still, he looked no less graceful for it. 

“Miko, this is _____.” 

Miko waved excitedly. “Hi!” 

“_____, this is Rafael,” the small boy waved, “And Jack.” 

The older one gave a small salute. “Hiya. You get caught up in the robot stuff too?”

You could not help a tired laugh. “Guess so.” 

“These children aid us in understanding Earth. They have been invaluable during our time here.”

“Except Miko,” Jack said. It earned him a slap across the back of the head. “Hey!”

“I contribute a lot _thank you_. Just ask Bulkhead!”

The children’s energy was infectious, you found yourself smiling at their banter. 

“Why did you come, _____?”

Optimus question snapped you out of your small haze. Had you not been running on three and a half hours of sleep (slightly less than your nightly average), you would have been able to stop your face from heating up. 

As it were, you stood staring at him with a dry mouth and pink cheeks. 

“Ah- yeah- There was.... I wanted to talk about what happened.” 

He nodded solemnly. 

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait a while. But when I return you will have my full attention.” 

“Oh.”

That was not exactly how you pictured your Hallmark classic confession going. 

The groundbridge opened once again. 

“_____ and the children will stay here. Bulkhead, Arcee, with me. Bumblebee, Ratchet, be ready if you detect any movement for the sea coordinates.”

“Understood.” Ratchet kept his hand on the groundbridge lever. “Good luck.” 

Arcee folded into a motorcycle, and Bulkhead into an off-road truck. You had to blink a few times to make sure they were still there, but their paint jobs were undeniable. 

“Huh.” 

Optimus spared one last glance at you. 

Then, he shifted, and twisted, and folded down into a semi-truck. 

You blinked a few times. 

“Huh?” 

Of course, that was perfectly logical. As logical as this insane world could be. The airplane turned into a man and the. Truck. Turned into a man? Sometimes? 

Now that you really thought about it, you were lucky your handprint was not a tire track. 

But he was speeding off before you could ask anything else. 

A week you had agonized over this. Not knowing what to say, or if you would ever say it. And now your moment was here, but it was quickly speeding away into the green void. 

And you were running off after him. 

Your legs had started moving before you realized it, carrying you with fervent speed towards that glowing green. You could smell clean air blowing through it. 

“_____ don’t!” Ratchet called. 

“Yyyyeeaahhh bOOOYYYYYY!” Miko screamed, but her longest ‘yeah boy’ ever was cut off as you bolted through. 

The wind blew harder as you ran on something solid, but not quite ground, until you gracelessly fell out on your face. 

The grass was soft. Softer than you ever remembered it, and warm in comparison to the early morning winds. Storm clouds brewed above, and you could hear waves. 

You crawled over to the edge of the cliff to find you were sitting right above the ocean, above a small beach cavern. It could have been a scene ripped off the travel calendar in your cubicle. 

“So, I died,” you said, laughing against the grass. That was the only logical explanation for all of this. You must have died somewhere in that bridge. 

The ground beside you exploded with a hot beam of light. 

You screamed, scrambling to get closer to more solid ground, and you could hear engines roaring. 

“I didn’t die- I did NOT die!” 

Not even half a mile from you was a fight between Arcee and a smooth, black robot. Thankfully, it appeared that he had only misfired in your direction. Unthankfully, his canons were charging again. 

Dirt and singed grass flew into the air as you ducked. The rocks tore up the knees of your jeans, deep enough to draw blood. 

You spat out a piece of your hair that had been burnt off and kept running. If Arcee was fighting, then Optimus had to be nearby. 

You had never been a track and field star, but boy were you giving a go at it. You ran like hell, looking everywhere. Over the top of the hill, you could see red paint, so you ran towards it. 

Coming along was a dumb idea, and if you even made it to Optimus there was little advantage to him for your presence. You could not fight one of these titans. You would only slow him down. 

Gunfire and metal clanks filled the air, and you still could not see Optimus. 

The earth shook with another blast. 

“I wanna go home I wanna go home I wanna go-“

Then you saw him. 

He had changed out his hands for a glowing blade, and a gun, and he was back-to-back with Bulkhead. It was difficult to tell what exactly was going on with the mass of shiny black bots that were swarming them, but the pair was still standing, and the swarm was slowly thinning.

Bulkhead was vicious, brutal. He grabbed for limbs and fingers and smashed whatever was nearest. He was a force of nature like thunder. Perhaps slower than lightning, but nothing less for it. 

Optimus, on the other hand, was nothing short of artistic. The eons he had to know his own strength showed in the restraint of his movements. There were no severed heads or punctured chests falling away from him, only disabled and stunned vehicons sporting deep wounds on their arms and legs. He fired as much as he could, and failing that, only then did he cut across their chassis with a surgeon like precision.

Every part of him was both electric and alive in that moment. 

“Woah,” you breathed. You had hidden yourself behind a shelf of rock with grass growing over it. A stray blast took off the top of the rock you were hiding beneath. You managed to avoid any falling rubble, but through the smoke you knew you needed somewhere else to hide. 

On the other side of the rock, you noticed a tunnel embedded into the hill. It had a large, golden door, and a single handle in the center. It looked vault-ish, and you sure could have used a vault. 

_”Come closer,”_ the wind whispered.

The door was slightly ajar, and a faint glow spilled out of it. You dashed towards it and yanked it open. 

The vault was lined with millions of tiny lights, red, blue, white, green. It was almost like fireflies. They rested against all the sides of the glass until you entered. 

“Woah.” 

They moved to allow you to pass through, and then floated slowly back to the bottom of the circular floor. 

Experimentally you brushed your hand against the side of the wall. The lights fell away softly and glittered all the way down. Some fell between your fingers, leaving like tiny electric shocks on your skin. 

“What is this?” 

Then the lights began to converge. They skittered like bugs, closing in on the space around you. They pooled at your feet, and then began to climb up your shoes. They left tiny shocks on your legs as they crawled. 

Gently, but urgently, you tried to dust them off. They only crawled higher. 

“I-Okay- Little dudes- Let’s- Ow?” 

The lights shocked you and began disappearing. You rapidly pulled up your sleeve to see the lights were burrowing into your skin, each one leaving a little zap. 

“What the-“ 

You scrambled to get out of the not-vault and back onto normal land, still itching like the devil. 

Laid back against the grass you panted and stared at the golden door, still trying to shake off the feeling of the lights crawling all over you. 

“Get to the container!” Optimus called. 

“On it!” 

Arcee cut through the stragglers and shifted into her alt mode. 

One unfortunate soul got in her way. Her tires squealed against his armor as she boosted herself off him, and then turned towards you. 

“Eh.”

Her engine made a low whine that kept building and building. You could see her handlebars clearly now. 

She flew off the rock you were shielding yourself under. The bottom of her chassis flew over you, and then crashed on the other side. 

She hit the ground as a robot again and began running. A few of the black bots had wised up to her scheme and were flocking towards her. Shot after shot she fired, hitting more than missing, as she ran for the cliff. 

She yanked the vault you had just been sitting in out of the ground with ease, despite it being almost a third her size. 

And then she disappeared over the edge, the container in hand. 

You clamped a hand down over your mouth, partially in shock, partially to keep yourself from calling her name. 

The stray bots tried to stop by the edge, but three of them were sent stumbling over, and only one remained. 

He readied his weapons to fire down below, but a blast hit him in the back. He spasmed, and then fell over the edge. 

Optimus stood with his canon still charged, the swarm from before reduced to piles of limp armor. 

Arcee climbed back over the cliff, the container still tucked under her arm. 

“Got it!” She called back. 

“Excellent.”

Optimus’ weapons became hands again as he surveyed the area. It was still, and calm, despite the parts of the grass that were smoking on the wind. 

Bulkhead pushed the limp bots aside with his foot as they met up in the middle of the field. 

He shook his head. “Something about this, it seemed too easy.”

Arcee cocked an eyebrow. “Says the one who didn’t have to throw themselves off a cliff.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“I agree, Bulkhead.” Optimus kept his eyes trained towards the horizon. “None of the senior officers aboard the nemesis came to retrieve this. If it is what I believe it is, it would have caught someone’s attention.” 

“Yeah,” Bulkhead said slowly. “Even Starscream would gun for it if it was major.” 

Arcee’s eyes widened. “Do you think we have a fake?”

“No.” Optimus took the canister from Arcee and held it up to the light. “I believe it is genuine, but I would feel more confident if Ratchet were to examine it.” 

Something silver came over the hills. 

The same titan from before, with his talon like fingers and silver wings. He descended downwind in a strange silence. Even from this distance, you could see the wicked grin splitting his faceplate. He extended his arm and pointed a red missile at the group. 

The team was too engaged in examining the canister to notice. 

You barely recognized the sound of your own voice as it ripped from your throat. 

“— Behind you!” 

Optimus eyes widened at you, but he whipped around in time to dive out of the way. He pushed Arcee aside on the way down, shielding her from the blast. 

You could feel the earth shake from your corner when it detonated and left a smoking crater where the team had been standing. 

The three of them sped away out of the smoke. A little dirty, but fully intact.

“I thought you were smarter than to take on all of us at once!” Arcee shouted. 

“I don’t need to take on any of you,” his voice lowered an octave. “— Just the one.” 

“Ratchet! We need a ground bridge! Bulkhead, _____ is behind the rocks, take her back to base!” 

A green portal appeared at the edge of the field. 

Another missile fired. You could not see through the haze. It was strong enough to make your vision blur with tears. There was metal and smoke, and sparks flew. There was a pained sound from Optimus, and a heavy thud. 

Next thing you knew, a jet took off, the canister strapped to the underside of it. 

Shots flew into the sky, but none of them hit. Starscream was supersonic before they could even graze him. 

There was a low whine as their weapons powered down. 

“Damn it!” You heard Arcee kick the grass. 

“It is alright, Arcee.” 

The smoke cleared, long enough for you to see Optimus standing tall, staring at the sky. 

Your relief threatened to overwhelm you. 

A giant hand braced against your back and effortlessly scooped you up. 

“H-Hey!”

In a shift of mechanical parts, the hand deposited you into its cabin, and then folded back down into a door. 

You were not sure you would ever get used to that. 

“Sorry kid, orders. Are you okay?”

You shook off the shock. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said dumbly. “How are you?” 

Bulkhead laughed. He had a nice laugh you noticed. 

“Just fine. That was nothing.” 

“I hope that’s not a tough guy thing.”

You watched the green and grey countryside race by. You would have to remember to come back here sometime. Ideally when there was not laser fire around. 

Green light flooded the windows, and then you were right back where you started. 

It was so strange that you found yourself a little dizzy. One moment you were in the plains, the next you were back in the quiet base. Your ears still rung as you climbed out of the car. 

Ratchet stared at you with wide, angry eyes, and you realized that you would eventually be forced to talk to Optimus about this. 

Thankfully, there was more important business to attend to. Ratchet looked frantically to Optimus. 

“Did you get the container?” 

His mouth made a firm line, and he shook his head. 

“Starscream intercepted us right after we acquired it.” 

Bulkhead shifted into his robot mode and plopped down on the ground, while Arcee disappeared into the corridors. 

Miko’s face peered between the bars. 

“How was it? Did you see a fight? Did you get to see Megatron? Did you-“

Jack threw a pillow at her head. 

“Hey-!” 

“Raf’s asleep,” he whispered sternly. 

“Oh, sorry,” she whispered. 

“Are you alright?” 

Optimus voice was low, and close, and you whipped around to find that the soot covered robot had kneeled to your level. 

“I- I’m okay- But you? Are you okay? I watched you take a missile!”

“It was not a direct hit.” 

“Still?” 

“I am fine, I assure you.” 

He returned to his full height, and nodded to Ratchet, who appeared no less frazzled than he had a few minutes ago. 

“Ratchet, please check _____.”

“I said I was fine!”

“After which, I would like you to meet with me in my quarters.” 

Oh, you did not like that tone. You did not like that tone one bit. If a nun had scolded you for kicking puppies into a river you would have liked it slightly better than that. 

With your proverbial tail tucked between your legs, you allowed Ratchet to poke and prod you with various instruments until he was satisfied. 

Briefly you wondered if he knew what he was doing, but seeing as he looked ready to snap at you in a moment’s notice, asking for his credentials did not seem prudent. 

“You’re fine.”

“That’s what I said, twice,” you mumbled. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing, thanks.” 

You scooted forward and hopped off the lowered pad, only to literally run into Miko. 

“Ah- Sorry-“

“No!” She pointed a finger into your chest. “You have to tell me what happened!”

“Uh. They fought over some canister thing.”

“No,” she said with a dramatic, exasperated sigh. “I mean why you’re _here_. You have to have some story, none of us just wandered in! And I saw Optimus holding you!”

Even the mention of his name tugged at your chest. 

“Uh-” You looked to Ratchet for any kind of help, but he was already dutifully ignoring you in favor of his console again. 

Miko stared at you expectantly. 

As much as you did not want to talk with Optimus, you wanted to discuss things with this girl even less. Truthfully, you still did not know what you were at liberty to share. 

“We’ll um. Talk later.”

“Promise?”

You sighed. “Promise.”

“Double dog promise?” 

“Yes,” you groaned.

You dismissed yourself from her and stared down the empty corridor. 

Not that you had wanted to be probed more by Ratchet or Miko, but a part of you did wish it had lasted slightly longer. 

Now you faced the door to Optimus’ quarters. 

‘ _Deep breath_ ,’ you told yourself. Then, you proceeded. 

The door opened to a mostly dim room. Optimus was seated at a small desk off to the side, examining glowing data pads between his hands. It was strangely domestic, though you felt like a doll observing the human world. Everything was proportionally huge. 

Optimus turned. He had not bothered to wash off any of the soot or grime from before. 

“Ratchet cleared you?”

“Yes, he said I’m fine.” 

“_____,” he started, his voice intolerably gentle. 

“No, look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that and - I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“You are new to our group, and you did not fully understand the danger.” The disappointment in his voice made you want to curl up and never be seen again. “However, you did catch one of our blind spots. For that, thank you.”

“Ah,” you pushed your fingers together. “You saved my life so, I guess... We’re even....” 

He smiled, just a little, but a smile, nonetheless. “It would seem so.” 

You sat down on the bench again. It seemed he had left it out for you, even though it was a little in the way. 

“What did you want to discuss before we left?”

“Um...”

That’s right. It felt like that had been eons ago now, and you realized that between time zones, it was now almost 2 AM. 

“Right.” You swallowed. Your face burned, your palms felt clammy, and every beat of your heart felt like it wracked your whole body. Even facing down alien gunfire had felt less harrowing than this. 

The only other time you had felt like this was at your piano recital senior year. The moment you were staring at the empty seat on stage and waited to get called. 

_’And now performing, ‘One Summer’s Day, _____!’_

You had taken the seat that day, in your dress that was a size too small, with your hair sprayed up into an impossible shape and mascara falling into your eyes. 

Your fingers hovered over the keys. 

The way he watched you, his ever-patient silence, you felt as though time had stopped right then. 

It was time to play your opening notes. Your lips parted slightly.

“I know we’re different species,” the first words tumbled out. “And that you’re in the middle of the crazy war thing.” 

A pause. 

“And I’m stubborn, and selfish, and bitter, and I’m difficult to get along with sometimes. But ....I’m willing to give this a go if you are. I don’t know what exactly that would mean, for uh, us. But.” 

You let out a breath. 

“My roommate- friend, she told me that these handprints don’t lead us to gardens, but to good soil. And ... I know, you’re good soil.” 

You looked up, to see he had tilted his head slightly with a confused smile. 

And then you realized that you had effectively just called him dirt. 

“Oh, my gosh, okay, I didn’t mean to, ugh. That’s not what I meant.“ 

There was a low laugh, you almost did not recognize it as his, but it was pleasant to listen to all the same. 

“I understood your meaning.” 

You wondered if it was the effects of the handprint, or if his voice had that effect on everyone, of just sounding safe. 

“I am pleased to hear that,” he said quietly. Despite being more than three times your size, you noticed he too had difficulty looking you in the eyes. 

‘ _And I’m pleased that you’re just as awkward as me about this._ ’ 

“I understand I am not the ideal partner, but I am also willing to try. There will be times we cannot relate to each other; however, I believe many of these differences will be superficial.”

His warm smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. 

“But I will not lie to you. If you continue to engage with me, there will be significant risk. Our continued conflict with the Decepticons puts all our confidants in danger. The autobots guard their human charges with their life, but there have been setbacks along the way.”

“I know.” You rubbed your arms. “It’s. It’s probably going to suck sometimes, I know. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. But, I saw you out there today and, I trust you.”

He nodded solemnly. 

“Then I would like you to relocate your housing to this base.”

Talk about going from 0 to 100 in 3.5. Agreeing to date or, whatever you were planning to do was one thing. Moving in was an entirely separate matter. 

“Uh - What?” You squeaked. 

“It is the best way to ensure your continued safety. I know it is remote, but we can provide adequate transportation to wherever you may need to go.”

“I don’t think a semi-truck is a very covert way to go to work,” you trailed off. 

“You do not like it?”

“No-no, no, that’s not-“

But, he was smiling. _’So you can crack a joke, huh?’_

“I agree. You will be provided with a suitable alternative.” 

You almost choked on your own spit. 

“A new car-?!” You narrowed your eyes. “You sound like you’ve talked about this with someone.” 

“I had to discuss arrangements with Agent Fowler.” 

“Taxpayer money going to a good use,” you said dryly. “Anything else I need to know?”

He leaned back in his seat. “In time.” 

You did not like the way he said it. A more rebellious part of you wanted to press with your own questions, but the answers were long trapped behind those eyes. You would try to find them another day. 

“Right. I. Thank you. And thank you for saving my life.”

“You are very welcome.” 

“I’ll uh... Let you get back to it.”

He nodded. 

You felt his eyes on you until the doors closed behind you again. 

Ah, yes. You would be cringing about what you said for years to come, around the hours of 2-4 AM. But for now, you had a new life to settle into. 

It felt like things were moving fast. Blisteringly fast. One day you were mourning a glitched mark, the next you were about to move in with the handprint’s owner. 

But you could not say it felt bad. Though your body was sore, and your mind was still wired, deep down, a part of this felt right. You had spent so much of your life in a state of recoil. Always ready to leap but never willing to look. But this felt only like an extension of what you had always known: things were always going to be exceptionally weird for you. 

And to be honest, you felt a little happy about it. For the first time in years, it felt like someone was looking out for you.


	3. Changes

Purple light reflected off the canister’s dark glass. Laid out on a medical berth instead of a table because of its size, it looked less like a component and more like a small coffin.

Starscream, on the other hand, appeared ready to smash the thing. 

“— What do you mean, _empty_?” 

Too used to his shrill voice, Knockout barely even recoiled. He gestured to the canister. 

“Well, see for yourself, Lord Starscream.” 

A growl escaped the silver jet, before he resigned himself to looking. He picked it up and checked under the caps. He tapped the glass, turned it upside down and shook it, but no luck. Frustrated he let it drop back on the table. 

“According to my scans, this container should have been impossible to open. It wouldn’t have just ‘popped off’ due to erosion.” 

“It was open when I found it.” 

Knockout leaned against the table with his fingers laced beneath his chin. “Tell me, what was this was supposed to have in it?” 

“That’s none of your concern,” Starscream snapped. 

Knockout resisted the urge to gag on his self-confidence. 

“If I don’t know what I’m looking for, how can I tell you one way or the other?” 

Starscream’s wings sagged. 

“Alright.” He set the container upright again. Despite the abuse it had just taken, there was not so much as a scratch on the surface. “This is the payload for the Psi project.” 

Knockouts optics widened. He pulled his hand away as though he had been burned. 

Many thought it had been a myth. Just another mad rambling of the scientist that had become urban legend over the eons. Many had hoped it was. 

“It really exists?” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“I want this wretched thing out of my laboratory.” 

“What does it matter? You just said it was empty!” 

“That makes it worse!” Knockout pushed the container and the cap back to Starscream. “Just – Get rid of it. It’s useless now.” 

“Not quite.” 

Oh, Knockout hated that tone. With a pop, Starscream reattached the lid. 

“The explosive element may have been removed, but the autobots have not been made aware of that.” 

He tapped his talons against the glass with a slimy smile.

* * *

The five of them stood in the dim light around the monitor. Coordinates in the artic flashed. The place where the warhead was supposed to be was nothing but a white desert. 

“The warhead is under the ice,” Ratchet said flatly. “That makes this a little harder.” 

“Someone’s gonna have to dive,” Arcee said quietly. 

The five of them stared at the screen like a death sentence, and it was not far from it. 

Bumblebee’s head hung low. 

“ _How? Never mind the cold, we’re not built for conditions like this, water in our vents could spell serious trouble for our cooling systems._ ” 

“You’re right about that.” Ratchet brought up a schematic on screen. It looked like the veins of a leaf, with dangling branches and a singular hub. “I’ve devised a set of modifications which could allow for someone to replace their air ventilation with liquid ventilation for a short time.” 

Bulkhead whistled. 

“Now that’s a mod. Do we even have the stuff to make that?” 

“Barely. I’ve got enough supplies to make one set.”

Optimus nodded slowly. “How will resurfacing work?” 

With a few keystrokes, Ratchet brought up a second set of schematics. This one looked like a space shuttle orbiter with its nose cut off, leaving only the thruster and wings, and a bracket system. There was a collective cringe when it appeared, but Optimus stared at its wings steadfastly. 

“If we could borrow one of these from the humans, we could retrofit it for the job.” Ratchet sighed. “This environment couldn’t be less suited to our biology. This is the best I can do with what we’ve got. If we could skip this whole warhead thing that would be great.” 

“We cannot allow the warhead to fall into decepticon hands. Currently they only possess the payload. Without it’s intended method of delivery, it is useless to them.” 

Arcee raised an eyebrow. 

“This warhead, what makes it so special?” 

Optimus stared grimly at the blinking point in the Arctic. 

“Long ago, the scientist created the Psi detonator. He travelled to the well and used a small portion of the allspark itself to create a weapon of unimaginable destruction.” 

“ _An allspark bomb?_ ” 

“Correct.” 

Arcee had to swallow down her own nausea. Her fists clenched, hard enough for the joints in her fingers to pop. To think of the allspark being violated in such a clinical way for destructive purposes was enough to even make Bulkhead turn away. 

“Currently, we are the only ones who know of the coordinates. But time is of the essence, we will move for the warhead as soon as the modifications are ready.” 

“I can fab the mods in two days, minimum.” 

“That will be sufficient, old friend.” 

Five pairs of eyes stared at that point on the monitor, each wishing that it had never existed in the first place.

* * *

The November air threatened to sink through the last layer of your clothes as you stood at the door to your old apartment. It had only been a day since you left, but somehow the jingle of your keys still sounded foreign in the lock. 

“Hey Alice, I’m-“ 

There was a wet sound as lips disconnected. 

Alice was currently straddling the waiter from last night. Her arms had been wrapped around his neck and she looked at you like a blue-eyed deer caught in headlights. 

“I - Am so sorry I can come back later-“ 

Before you could spin on your heel to leave, Alice grabbed your wrist. 

“No- Wait! I want you to meet him! _____, this is Lawrence, Lawrence, _____.” 

Unsure of what you were supposed to say in situations like these, you settled on the classic. 

“Uh. Hi.” 

“Hi.”

“This is him!” 

“Who?” 

“He’s my soulmate!” Alice squealed. 

Lawrence straightened his glasses. 

“Lawrence, Lawrence Wang. She choked on a bread stick,” he explained, readjusting his smudged glasses. “I gave her the Heimlich.” 

“Yeah, he totally saved my life!” 

It was so undeniably on brand for Alice that you had to stifle a small laugh. It was not difficult though. She looked like she had just made the strike of the century, and Lawrence looked like he had died and gone to heaven. 

“That’s awesome. Seriously, congratulations.”

Alice’s eyes were misty as she hugged you. Awkwardly, you patted her back. 

“Lawrence, you’re a lucky man.”

He nodded hard enough for his glasses to jiggle on his face. 

“Thank you! He’s gonna be moving in. That okay?” 

“That works perfectly, I’m actually here to move my stuff out.” 

“What? Where to?” 

“With my um. Handprint. Person.” The word ‘soulmate’ still left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Alice sucked in a gasp. “You two worked it all out!” 

“Yeah, so, I should be ready to go by tonight. I’ll sign over the papers to you too.”

“No, you wait a second. I have to meet this guy.” 

“He-“ Explaining just how impossible that would be threatened to make you spill the secret, but you managed to catch your tongue in time. “He.... He’s out, maybe another time.” 

Luckily, Alice bought it. She pouted sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry. But like, come over tomorrow! It can be a little going away party!” 

The sweetness of this girl threatened to properly kill you. Still, you could not help a small pang of sadness. This was a long line of events you were going to have to attend alone, even after your handprint had been resolved. 

“Thanks, but, I can’t.” 

Politely you excused yourself from the room to do what you came there for. You did not have much, other than your clothes and your books. Everything you owned fit into three cardboard boxes and loaded onto a dolly, with your withered succulent sitting on top. 

‘ _I’m probably the only person who can kill a cactus._ ’ 

By the time you were finished, Alice and Lawrence had left. The apartment was dark, and empty. The way you would always remember it. Still, you were going to miss this place in a weird way. 

With some struggling, you managed to get your dolly (and succulent) to the first level. The government car that Optimus had promised had not materialized yet. So, you were still forced to walk from place to place. 

Except to the base. Truthfully, you did not have any idea where it even was. You stood outside with your back to the cold and fumbled around on your phone.

# Ratchet

####  **Today,** 7:22 PM

    Hi I am so so so sorry to bother you but can I have a bridge please?

    Do I look like a taxi service to you?????

    I’m so sorry
    Once I’ve got a car I won’t do it anymore ever

    I want that in writing…

``

A green portal spun up at the end of the alleyway, and you hauled your things through. The warmth of the base was an immediate relief from the cold. At least, it would have been. 

Miko was waiting for you on the other side. She had one hand on her hip, and the other accusingly pointing her cellphone at you.

“You!”

“Uh, hi.” 

“Don’t ‘hi’ me! You double dog promised you were gonna tell me what’s going on!”

Between the pink cell phone jutted out into your face and Miko’s refusal to move aside, there was little you could do. 

“Fine, yeah. I’m moving in.” 

“Moving in? Why? Did you lose your house? Did the decepticons find you? Do you know something important?” 

With each rapid-fire question, she took a step forward, forcing you to shrink back into the groundbridge tunnel. 

“Uh-“ 

“Allow me to help.” 

Optimus’ hand came between you both and effortlessly scooped up the dolly. You barely managed to pick your poor succulent off the top before it could go too high. 

“Ah, thanks.” 

“Of course. I apologize that I could not meet you there.” 

Quickly you waved it off. 

“No- Seriously, it’s fine.” 

Still unsatisfied, Miko pointed her cell phone at Optimus. 

“Why is she moving in! How come I can’t move in!” 

Although you admired her fearlessness even in the face of a 30-foot-tall robot, you felt the color drain from your face. 

“She had my handprint,” he said, as though he had not just resigned your next week and a half to nothing but questions. 

A choked noise escaped your throat. 

Miko, on the other hand, looked like she had just won the lottery and been struck by lightning simultaneously. 

“WHAT—“

“Allow me to show you to your room,” Optimus said calmly. 

When your brain finally rebooted you followed him in the hallway. Miko attempted to follow you both, but she was quickly stopped by Bulkhead who insisted that they go patrolling together. 

You made a mental note to repay him for it later. 

Still, as you walked behind Optimus you kept a large distance between you. Each of his footsteps, despite how cautious he was, rattled the ground slightly. You could still see yourself becoming red paste living with these titans. 

Finally, he stopped at a familiar door. It opened to his room. Immediately heat gathered to your face, and you backed away from the threshold. 

“I- I don’t know if I can stay in the same room as you-“

“I understand, and I do not wish to invade your privacy.” 

He gestured to the bookcase. Your gaze traveled down, until you saw a little door beside it. It looked almost like a mouse-hole in comparison. 

“Your room is connected to this one.” 

“Oh,” you said dumbly. 

He gingerly set the dolly beside the door, and then shifted to a more appropriate height. Even staring at him with all your wits about you, you still could not make sense of where all the extra pieces were going. 

Now, only a little taller than the door, he gestured for you to go first. 

Hesitantly, you did. 

Despite being little more than a storage closet in a missile silo bay, it had been done up to give the appearance of a bland but serviceable studio apartment. The kitchen, dining room, and living area all blended. Another door off to the side was slightly ajar, revealing a full bathroom. 

The ceiling was high, high enough that once Optimus stepped in, he was able to stand at his full 10-foot height, and not even brush an audial against it. 

The walls had yet to be painted and were still a flat concrete. Nor had the lights and drop ceiling been changed out. One of the fluorescents above flickered slightly. You could see a dead bug or two in some of them. 

But it was not terrible. With a little love and paint, it could even be nice. It was certainly bigger than your old apartment. You did miss the windows a little bit, but it was a small complaint. 

More importantly, the price was impossible to argue with. 

You parked your little succulent on the counter. It already looked at home there. 

“Is there anything I can assist you with?” 

“Uh, yes.” You dug the toe of your shoe into the ground. “I don’t have any food here, so I need to go to the store.” 

“Of course. I can ask Ratchet to bridge you.” 

“It’ll be more than I can carry back on my own. I really, really hate to ask but could I borrow a car?” 

“There are none to spare but myself.”

The awkward flush returned to your face, and you waved the idea away. 

“No, I can wait another day, I know you’re busy.”

“It is no trouble.” 

He looked sincere enough, at least from what little you could glean of his expression. And you really needed to get some food soon. 

“Ah - Okay, I’ll get my list.” 

And so, you found yourself riding in the Nevada desert in a semi-truck. It was strange being in it, knowing that it was both a car and. Not. But it, or rather, he, also had an extremely comfortable cab. That only made the experience weirder. 

Hands in your lap, and your head low, you shifted slightly in your seat and then immediately regretted it. If he was alive, did that extend to everything in there?

“You seem uncomfortable.” 

His voice seemed to fill the area of the cab, and a soft light glowed on the wheel with each syllable. 

You winced. Of course, he could feel it. 

“No- I’m not, it’s. Just strange is all.” 

“I see. I apologize if this is awkward.” 

“No! No, that’s not - It’s not awkward.” You fiddled with your hands in your lap. “It’s just- You’re alive.” 

He was silent, waiting for you to continue. 

“You don’t feel weird when people, sit? In you?”

“No.” He paused. “From what I have heard, I believe it is comparable to having a ‘cat in one’s lap.’”

You would have considered that extremely pleasant. 

“Oh. I guess, that’s not so bad.” 

It was nice to know that you were not some invasion into this life form, but rather something of some comfort. Some of the weirdness of it faded away for you, and it was a little easier to breathe. The feeling of constantly being watched slowly eased as you lifted your head to watch the night pass. 

At some point you had become comfortable enough to lean your arm against the windowsill and watch. In fact, now that you really thought about it, you felt rather safe. 

The edge of town came up before you knew it. The buildings were the same, and the same streetlights flickered as always but it seemed so different watching it from your perch. 

“Act like you are driving.” 

“What?”

“If you do not appear to be driving, you may garner unwanted attention.” 

“O- Okay.”

The steering wheel was decent at least, but you felt invasive somehow putting your hands on it. It moved between your palms, and you made sure your grip was loose enough to let it. 

Still, it felt strange. And if you were honest, a little derogatory somehow. Here was a life form far advanced, and eons older than anything else on this planet, and you had to pretend to control it just so no one would scrutinize. Quickly you shook it off. You were just overthinking it. 

He turned a corner, and the wheel turned with it. Your fingertips caught on a gash in the leather. Upon closer inspection of the dash, there were missing chunks here and there out of everything in the cab. It was clean but worn. 

Guilt pooled in your stomach. 

The truck stopped itself with a hiss in the back of the supermarket parking lot. 

You hopped out. Back onto solid ground. 

“I won’t be long, I’m sorry to leave you out here like this.”

“I will accompany you.” 

His voice sounded close. 

You spun around, and came face to face with a tall, dark man. He had black hair cut close to his head, and eyes that were too old for his face. 

His image flickered for a moment. 

“It is a holoform avatar. It allows me to walk with humans within a certain radius.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I have studied human movement, but I have not been able to try it myself. Please alert me to anything that looks unnatural.” 

You swallowed. 

The problem was that everything looked natural. The human’s form kept some of the same proportions as him, namely in the chest and hips. He looked like the kind who would help you get a cat out of a tree, or spare you some change if you needed it, or somehow knew the composer to a song you loved. Smart, strong, and unfalteringly kind. 

“Who- Who is that?”

“I initially scanned Agent Fowler, however he informed me that using a projection of him was ‘creepy’ and possibly violated the law of agent impersonation.” He rolled his shoulders experimentally. “I extrapolated different features from photographs of humans.” 

A Frankenstein-ed avatar, but nothing looked out of place about him. Holomatter or not, your hands instinctively reached for him. 

He watched you curiously as you touched his wrist. It was unexpectedly solid. 

“That’s... Incredible.” 

The same tasks you had been doing for years on your own seemed different somehow. Although you did not touch him, you could feel his presence behind you and beside you. 

Optimus examined a small glass of bay leaves with a kind of fascination one might behold a rare butterfly with. He slowly turned the bottle between his fingers and watched the leaves shift.

You looked away before he could catch you staring. 

His gestures were not unnatural per se, but his every movement as a human had a slow quality to it. He was deliberate in this form. As deliberate as he was when he was a 30-foot-tall robot, but here his caution was far less justified. 

When you approached the back of the store for some meats, his image began to flicker, and the package of chicken he had been looking at fell back into the cooler through his palms. 

“I am getting out of range.”

“That’s okay.” You glanced around for prying eyes but thankfully found none. One benefit of being out late you supposed. “Go hang out by the front, I’ll be there soon.” 

_”Billie Jean is not my lover-“_

You flipped open your phone. 

“Hello?”

“Heyyyy so what time are you—“ Alice erupted into giggles, and there was a soft smack. “Stop that-bad boy, anyway what time are you coming tomorrow!”

“Uh- Look, it was super nice of you to invite me but-“ 

“You should go.” 

You jumped, realizing that he was mere inches from the phone, and more importantly you. 

“Oooohhh who was that?” 

You covered the receiver. “What?”

“You should go.” 

“_____ who is that!” 

“No one,” you hissed into the phone, but it slipped out between your shoulder and face. 

“Hello?”

“Ooooh hello! Who are you?” 

“This is … John.”

‘John?’ You mouthed. 

“I could not help but overhear your invitation and I wanted to formally accept it on behalf of _____.” 

“Hey!” 

You made a swipe for your phone, but he managed to hold you out at arm’s length. 

“Hello John!” You could practically hear Alice wiggling her eyebrows through the line. “Are you one of her friends? - You can come too.” 

“Thank you, I would enjoy that.” 

“Okay, that’s it. Come over. Tomorrow night. And _____.”

“Wonderful, see you then.” 

He closed the phone with a snap and handed it back to you. 

You swiped it from his hand. 

“Seriously?”

“I want to meet this former roommate,” he said simply. 

“I didn’t take you for nosy,” you huffed. 

“You have become acquainted with my friends; I believe it is fair I become acquainted with yours.”

“She’s not my...” your sentence trailed off. Now that you thought about it, she was. And possibly your only friend. 

You sighed. 

“Fine. But I live on the third floor, how are you going to project up there?” 

“I have done it in the past.” 

“What?” 

“I could not allow you to be unguarded after the incident with Starscream.” 

“You followed me,” you groaned. 

Although it was a little endearing. In a strange, robot alien kind of way. You let out a long sigh. Yes. This was your life now. 

Both of you were back before 10, and you were grateful. Already the wear of the day was starting to make you slower, and you had not even unpacked your sheets yet. Optimus had already mass converted and was examining what you had purchased. He was smaller this time, now your head came up to eye level with his windshields instead of his waist. 

He nodded to you when you entered, a small glass of thyme in his hands. 

It was nice to have a kitchen that was not barren anymore. Cooking was something you enjoyed, something mechanical. You did not have to focus when you were following the directions, and then you had something good in the pot. 

You stashed away the last of the things into the cupboards and leaned against the counter. 

“You said you eat energon but is that all?” 

He slid the bottle back to you. 

“No. A long time ago, we ate many different things, but variety was a luxury of the upper classes.” There was a pain in his eyes. So brief, you nearly missed it. “Generations born during the war were not given the ability to process solids at all.” 

“Like Bumblebee?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “It is my hope that when we are able to restore Cybertron, he will get to experience all the richness that the planet has to offer.” 

Simple joys. You could relate to that. But there was a sadness in his tone that was more than just nostalgic, there was a profound sorrow there, and the bright points of his eyes were downcast. It seemed less like a friend wishing more for their friend, and more like a parent mourning a lost future. 

“I’m sure he will someday,” you said slowly. “Are you two, related?”

He let out a slow vent, so similar to a resigned sigh. 

“In a sense. He is my adopted son.”

Somehow ‘son’ was not something you imagined could be applied to the titans. You managed a small ‘oh.’ 

“One of my lingerers was named Ariel. Before the war we met, our handprints resolved, and we began to get closer. We had both lived for millions of years at that point, waiting to find our finality and had not. Bumblebee had been effectively orphaned after an attack on the citadel, so he was taken in by us. In human years, he was a teenager at the time.” 

His tone, the way he would not meet your eyes. It felt like being alone on a frozen lake. His optics softened. 

“Ariel believed the handprints were nothing more than a way for fate to control us. She wanted to forge her own way, even if it went against the grain. It was quite easy to become enchanted with her. Despite not being finalities, we were, in your terms, ‘married.’” 

It made sense for someone not to wait for their finality, they lived such long lives you almost pitied them. But it was a war now, between the jealousy for this woman, and the rational thought that told you ‘of course, don’t forget you didn’t wait either.’ 

You let out a slow breath. 

You were jealous, plain and simple. But you could also deeply understand. You knew what hopelessness did to the heart, and to endure it for millions of years, well, you could let it go. 

Like blowing out a candle, you let your jealousy die, and give way to a sympathetic trail of smoke. 

“You sound.... Like you really love her.” 

He finally met your eyes. 

“I do.” 

To have lived as long as he had, to have been married to someone possibly longer than you had likely even been alive as a species, that was nothing ordinary. 

You wanted to place your hand over his, but somehow that felt wrong. Like treading onto holy ground, this memory of a woman. 

“What happened to her?” You said quietly. 

“She was caught attempting to help neutrals escape Iacon,” his voice was measuredly even. “She was executed.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, knowing it was insufficient as the words left your lips. What sympathy though could you offer a mountain when you were only a blade of grass in comparison? 

Still, he managed a smile. 

“She was never one to approve of fate’s choices, but I believe that you both would have been friends.” 

Friends. That was a nice thought. 

When you were younger you remembered your friends telling you to hold your breath when you went by a graveyard. Otherwise, you would be letting the ghosts in. 

You were not one to believe in ghosts, but if a wandering soul needed a place of shelter, then you would let them find rest in your lungs. 

And so, you took a deep breath. 

“I wish I had met her.” 

Again, insufficient. But he was gracious to you in understanding. 

“As do I, but the past must remain there.” 

He looked as though he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. 

“I must ask that you keep this information about Bumblebee to yourself.” 

“I will,” you said solemnly. Not that you were one to share secrets, but it helped that you had no one outside of the base to spill them to. 

You did however have a new respect for the two of them. You never would have known had you not had these private conversations with Optimus. He treated everyone on his team with the same level of respect. 

“Uh, thank you.”

He tilted his head slightly. 

“For telling me all of this, for trusting me.” 

“You are my finality,” he said simply. 

Before you could open your mouth to reply, Optimus face changed, and he turned away with a finger resting on his audial. 

“— I understand, I’ll be right there.” He faced you again. “Ratchet requires my attention.”

“Right,” you nodded. “And thanks for all of this, for everything.” 

“You are welcome.”

That earned you a small smile. You were really beginning to like that one. 

“I am still meeting with your roommate tomorrow.” 

_Damn it._

* * *

It was late enough for the children to have left, leaving nothing to ease the tension in the base. Bumblebee was staring hard at Ratchet. 

“Optimus,” Ratchet said with some relief. “The breathing mods are ready but he’s insisting on being the diver.” 

Bumblebee nodded; his big eyes set with determination. 

“ _I can do it, I won’t let you down._ ” 

Bumblebee was already sitting on the medical berth, ready for the mod. His door wings were perked, and his fists were still clenched. 

“No.”

“ _What?_ ” 

Optimus rested a hand on Bumblebee’s shoulder. 

“While I have confidence in your ability, smaller frames will cool faster, you would have less time underwater.” 

“ _Then you’re sending Bulkhead?_ ” 

Ratchet shook his head. 

“No, he’s too heavy. He could get down there and stay down there, but he’d have a hard time resurfacing. Even with the shuttle backpack.” 

“The diver must be large enough to maintain core temperature underwater for a time, but light enough to be effectively shuttled back to the surface.” 

“ _Then let me! There’s a million ways this could go south, we can’t risk anyone else._ ” 

“We cannot risk you either.” 

There was some pity in Optimus eyes as he regarded the scout. He had once shared his eagerness to be boots on the ground, but now he found it a necessary part of ensuring the team could return to base. 

“I will be the diver for the mission, and I do not wish to debate it further. We must work as a team if we are to retrieve the warhead.” 

Bumblebee didn’t look entirely satisfied with this, but, he slowly climbed off the table. 

“ _Yes sir._ ” 

“Ratchet, are you ready to perform the modification now?” 

“Yep.” He clicked on a small flame. “Not gonna lie, this will hurt like the pits.” 

There was a small hesitation before Optimus hopped up onto the berth and began unlatching his windshields. 

“Proceed.”

* * *

Another long day at work ended mercifully with the clock hitting 5, but you felt more tired than usual. It was no wonder though. Settling into your new life was no easy task, and there was a new, constant stress to not make a misstep in public. 

Most days Optimus was gone before you left, so it was a welcome surprise to see him in his quarters when you arrived, but something was not right. 

He was leaned against his desk, his back to the door, and breathing (if that was the right word) very deliberately, as though he had just run a mile. 

Last time you checked though; robots did not run out of breath. 

“— Optimus?” 

He slowly righted himself and managed a small smile. 

“Hello, _____.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes.” He brought himself to stand again at his full height, but his fingers rubbed at something on the side of his neck. 

You didn’t look convinced. 

“I was ... Stretching.” 

‘ _Stretching what? Your wires?_ ’ 

Instead of pressing it, you relented. If something were wrong, you had some faith he would talk to Ratchet about it. Or Ratchet would bother him until he let him fix it. 

“If you say so, but don’t push yourself. Okay?” 

“Understood.” 

He seemed to recover quickly from what happened earlier, and true to his word, you set off for Alice’s later that evening. It was a silent drive as you watched the sunset through the windows, but a comfortable one. 

You stepped out of the cab, and instantly Optimus holoform appeared to greet you. Like a real gentleman, with a firm, solid grip, he helped you down. 

You almost felt bed when you had to let go of his hand. 

Within what seemed like moments you were standing in front of your old apartment. It felt like you had lived and entirely different life behind that door. You did in a way. 

Alice answered before you could knock. 

“_____!” 

She pulled you into a tight hug before you could so much as blink. You patted her back awkwardly. She smelled like the same strawberry perfume as before, but now it seemed markedly more pleasant. 

When she pulled away, she quickly turned her attention to Optimus. 

“So you’re John,” she said with the same breathy voice she always used on men. But she quickly dropped the act. “I’m Alice.” 

“Alice.” He stepped forward to shake her hand, although he struggled slightly to figure out the right angle to twist his wrist. Thankfully, it went unnoticed. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

She raised an eyebrow at you, a knowing grin on her face. 

Truthfully, you kind of envied them both. They looked so comfortable in their own skin, while you were not entirely sure where to put your hands. 

She led you both inside the apartment, where Lawrence was already setting food out on the table. It was possibly one of the largest spreads you had ever seen in your apartment. It turned out that Lawrence cooked like a professional chef, including the strange, abstract art garnishes of sauce and leaves on the sides of the plate. 

The kitchen was a mess but seeing as it was no longer your kitchen, it was a non-issue. 

“Lawrence, you‘ve met _____.” 

He nodded, squinting at you for a moment before nodding more. 

Alice gave you a sly grin. “And this is John.” 

Lawrence set the last plate down on the counter and frantically wiped his hands on his dirty apron. 

He thrust out his somewhat clean hand to him. ‘John’ took it much easier this time, his smile unfaltering. You noticed that the holoform’s teeth were also perfect, nearly uncanny. 

“Lawrence. It is unfortunate I cannot eat any of your beautiful food, you are incredibly skilled.” 

“Why can’t you eat?” 

“I… Have an illness. It keeps me on a strict diet.” 

“Ah. You come back sometime when you’re not sick.” 

John looked a little saddened by this for a moment.

“Of course. And thank you for having me in your home.” 

Alice swatted his arm with a towel, but there was an undeniable blush on her cheeks. That was understandable. You had gotten at least somewhat used to his voice over the past few days, but you still could not completely deny its effects. 

It was a little comforting to know that it was not just you. 

“Oh my gosh stop, you’re so formal.”

“Food’s getting cold.” 

Alice kissed Lawrence’s forehead before taking a seat, eliciting a small laugh from the man. It was proper domestic bliss between the two of them. 

You felt something in your chest twist. 

“He’s right.” Alice patted the chair next to hers, and the four of you gathered around the little table, absolutely packed with food. 

It was even more delicious in your mouth than it smelled. Even the things you normally did not care for were divine. Knowing that you probably were not going to be eating this well for a while, you savored it. 

“So,” Alice said, twirling her fork in her fingers. “John, do you live around here?”

Optimus nodded from his spot. He kept his hands respectfully in his lap, and naturally, his posture was also correct. It made you wonder if he had studied human movement from Disney films. 

“Yes, near the edge of 190 east. I do not usually come into town.” 

Not a total lie. You were impressed. 

Lawrence seemed a little suspicious. “What do you do for a living?”

He shifted slightly. “I am… a trucker.” 

You stifled a laugh behind a breadstick. ‘ _Smooth._ ’ 

“Ohh.” Alice leaned on her hands with a sigh. “You people make this country run, you know that?”

“Thank you.” 

“So I guess you’re away a lot, huh?” 

“Yes. It is unfortunate, but the work is necessary.” 

Alice leveled her eyes at you, like a hawk about to steal the mouse right off the ground. She was going in for the kill. 

“Are you two soulmates?” 

“Ah..” your mouth dried up. You looked to Lawrence for a bail maybe, but he was just as curious as Alice was. And there was already a grin on her face. 

“Yes,” ‘John’ said. “You are very perceptive.” 

“I knew it! And you moved into his house to take care of things while he’s gone, right?” 

“Uh.” 

“Also correct.” ‘John’ smiled, this time at you. The kind that reached his eyes and quite frankly had the power to liquefy you if you were not so terrified right then. “And she has been an excellent help.” 

“I _knew_ it! Ever since I heard you on the phone!” 

Lawrence sighed, and fished out a few twenties from his wallet and slid them to Alice. She kissed his hand dramatically before taking the bills and stuffing them between her cleavage. 

“I’m telling you- I’ve got like a sixth sense about this kinda stuff!” 

“She did tell me,” Lawrence said with a shrug. 

Alice leaned over to hug you, somewhat awkwardly from the side and leaned in close to your ear. 

“He’s hot, you’ll have cute kids.” 

You choked on your sprite. 

‘John’ looked at you with a partially raised eyebrow, but you waved it off.

“I’m – I’m fine.” 

The evening passed in a warm haze between the food and the company. Truthfully, you could not remember a time you had eaten with so many people. Sharing meals felt out of place, but it was a welcome strangeness. 

Optimus felt a chill on the back of his neck. 

The wind changed outside, causing the phone lines to waver and send a mass of birds back into the night air to look for a more stable perch. 

On the opposite roof, a small drone watched over the edge. Its single purple optic narrowed in on the window. Laserbeak recorded Optimus’ alt mode parked in the lot. 

The four humans inside continued to talk, one of which was holographic. The camera could easily filter out the image. The other was the girl he had seen before, a former tenant, and the two current residents. 

Images were quickly snapped of their smiling faces and compiled into facial datapoints for later use. 

The wind changed again, and the drone sped off into the night. 

Two new points of interest had been added to Soundwave’s ever-growing web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Retro iMessage Skin is by Azdaema Codes.
> 
> Also I have a [tumblr](https://exileandtrust.tumblr.com/) now! Not sure what I'll put there other than chapter updates but yeah!


	4. Below Freezing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Artistic liberties taken with rocket science because I totally underestimated how big a shuttle orbiter is. I’m so sorry. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. Enjoy.

As promised, your government car did finally arrive, and it was exactly what you would have expected. A beige Prius sat unassumingly in the middle of the base. 

Fowler triumphantly climbed out, keys in hand. But you regarded the thing cautiously. 

“Does it… Y’know?” 

“Transform? Nope. This is 100% Japanese manufacturing.” 

Standing with her arms crossed in front it, Miko looked even less impressed than you did.

“Lame.” 

“Lame?” Fowler slapped the hood. “This bad boy gets 50 to the gallon!” 

“Does it have guns? Or missiles? Or lasers? Oh! Is it also a submarine?” 

“No,” Fowler said flatly. He tossed you the keys. “It’s a standard issue department car, and you’re welcome.” 

The keys looked like someone’s dog had chewed them for weeks, and there was a small, sun faded ‘Hawaii’ key chain attached to it. 

“Department of what?” 

“Department of ‘nice try.’” 

“Oh well.” 

You climbed in. It was perfectly inoffensive in every way, but it had a notable ‘mothball’ smell to the interior. Otherwise, it was at least clean. Although the wheel was a little sticky. 

“Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me, you’re the taxpayer.” 

“Ugh.” Miko kicked the tire. “This sucks! You’re Optimus soulmate, you should have a sports car- Or a tank! Or a monster truck!” 

The term still made you wince. 

“Not how real life works.” 

You started to climb out when Ratchet intervened, planting his foot firmly in the ground right in front of your hood. 

He leaned over with his hands on his hips. 

“Don’t think you’re just going to leave that thing laying around,” Ratchet gestured to the back of the base. “Go park it in the service hallway.” 

“Yeah, sure. Sorry.” 

At the very least, it drove well, and after years of dealing with a true beater and then totaling said beater, it was actually quite nice. It was still a Prius though, so you felt dirty even thinking it. And you were never going to hear the end of it from your coworkers. 

When you came back to the main room, Fowler was slowly guiding another truck through the ground bridge. It was massive, large enough to take up almost the entirety of the hallway. 

Arcee stepped around you, close enough to make the ground wobble beneath your feet. 

“- Hey?” 

But she didn’t acknowledge you as she passed. 

The terminal blipped as Ratchet put in a call. A small photo of Optimus appeared, and a waveform beside it. 

“Optimus, we’ve got the shuttle. We’re ready for the mod as soon as your back.” 

“Undersood. I will be with you shortly.” 

The connection closed with another blip. 

Even Raf poked his head over the railing. “Shuttle?” 

Jack looked less enthused. “As in, space shuttle?” 

“Yes, yes,” Ratchet waved them off. 

He kneeled beside the container and unlatched it the way one might open a jewelry box, and he pulled away the sides. 

Inside was a pristine, albeit dusty, space shuttle orbiter. Its white wings were partially deconstructed, and its nose completely removed. An American flag and the NASA logo were printed on the side. 

Even you couldn’t help but look at the thing in awe. 

“The height of American engineering right there. One NASA space shuttle, as requested.” Fowler knocked on the hull with his fist. “It was a pain in the behind to get this, so it better be worth it.” 

Ratchet examined it with a neutral expression. “Fuel?” 

“Full tank. Just plug the wings back on and go.” 

“Primitive and inefficient,” Ratchet noted. “But it’ll do.”

With zero hesitation, Miko whipped out her phone and took pictures of it. 

He pulled off the wings that had been attached to the underside and began the work of reattaching them. 

“Woah, okay, what’s going on?” Jack asked. 

Raf hurried down the steps to see it himself, homework left forgotten on the second tier. 

“This. Is. Awesome.” 

Raf stretched his arm to touch the wing but couldn’t quite reach. Jack motioned for him to climb on, and atop Jack, he was able to brush his hand against the metal. 

His eyes wide with possibility, he quickly came back to reality. 

“Wait. Where’s the cockpit?” 

“Are we going to space again? Can I go? Will there be a space fight?” 

“I’m afraid not, Miko.” 

Optimus stood at the mouth of the entrance with his hands on his hips. 

Raf’s shoulders sagged slightly as Jack backed away from the shuttle. 

“Hey Optimus.” 

“Hello, Jack.” 

For some reason you felt more like hiding behind a wall than talking to him, but you could feel Miko staring at you. 

Your eyes met his for a moment, but you looked away almost as quickly. 

“We will be attempting to retrieve an artifact in difficult geography. One of your rockets may be the only way of getting out again.” 

Miko smiled like a cat. “Can I watch?” 

“No.” 

As if on cue, Nurse Darby’s car pulled in through the tunnel, and rolled to a stop in the center. 

You noticed Fowler stand a little taller when she arrived. 

In true mother fashion, the first thing she did when she got out was take Jack into a tight hug, which he reluctantly accepted. Not even a space shuttle or giant robots could phase her. You had to admire that a little. 

She and Jack were already discussing something. You gave her a small wave, not sure what you were supposed to do in this situation. 

“Hey _____,” she stood shoulder to shoulder with Jack. “Haven’t seen you in a while, are you doing okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks. You?” 

“I’m fine. Have you been getting enough sleep?” 

“Uh.” 

“Your eyes, you look a little bloodshot.” 

“Oh that’s, yeah.” Bloodshot? 

“She’s smoking the devil’s lettuce,” Miko whispered to Raf. 

“Shut up.” 

Raf looked thoroughly confused. “What’s the devils lettuce?” 

You sighed. Optimus intervened before anyone had a chance to explain. 

“Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Arcee, you will stay at the base for tonight and monitor your charges remotely.” 

The three of them looked a little confused by the order but they nodded regardless. 

Miko gasped. 

“Do I have to ride with Jack?” 

“That would be ideal. If Nurse Darby does not mind.” 

“No problem.” 

Miko sighed dramatically. “No!” 

Ratchet rolled his eyes. “Then walk home.” 

“Mind if I hitch a ride Miss Darby?” 

She looked hesitant but finally gestured to the passenger seat. 

“Can’t refuse an agent I guess.” 

He straightened his collar. “Thank you very much, ma’am.” 

Miko looked to Bulkhead, her eyes wide and pleading, but he only gave her a disappointed shrug. 

“I’m sorry. Orders are orders.” 

“Ugh.” 

The kids loaded up in the car, a little disappointed that they would not see what was to become of the shuttle. Raf stuck his nose against the window and watched Bumblebee. Bumblebee made a small beeping sound, almost like a chirp, and Raf smiled. 

When the children left, the base almost felt empty. 

With the wings reattached to the shuttle, Ratchet hauled it over to the medical berth where a set of equally intimidating looking tools sat, and a massive pair of rails. 

You could tell even Optimus looked slightly unnerved, but he proceeded to sit on the berth. 

“Uh, sorry to be out of the loop here but, what’s going on?” 

“We have found the warhead portion of the Psi project, but it is deep in the arctic ocean,” Optimus said. 

No one elaborated. Arcee pointedly turned her back to you, her arms crossed. 

More secrets then, as usual. You had no right to complain though, this was the life you signed up for when you agreed to stay there. 

And Optimus looked nervous. Not in the way a child would at the doctor’s office, but you noticed his optics lingering lower than usual. You would feel terrible if you just left him there. 

So, you climbed up to the second level and plopped down on the couch, your head perched on the back of the headrest. 

Ratchet seemed annoyed by this, but you were out of the way, so he didn’t complain. 

“Face down, this is not going to be comfy. And you can’t transform until it’s off.” 

“I understand.” 

Obediently Optimus laid himself down on the berth, his arms stretched over his head. You could see the servos in his fingers twitch slightly as Ratchet engaged the flame, and they clenched as he began to weld the railing to Optimus’ back. 

Arranged so that it would not crush his smokestacks, it still looked like the equivalent of nailing a backpack to someone’s shoulders. 

You had so, so, so many questions. But you held your tongue. 

“Bulkhead, hold this steady.” 

“You got it.” 

Bulkhead lifted the shuttle into place with a grunt. Sparks fell onto the concrete and bounced away as Ratchet welded the shuttle to the railing. He was still as they worked, painfully still, but you could see his hands balled up into fists beside his head. 

‘ _Don’t robots have anesthetic?_ ’

There was a low hum as Ratchet’s tools powered off. He patted the berth. 

“You’re good to go. As good as it’s gonna get.” 

Slowly, Optimus slid himself off the berth. He was massive, and strong, but the weight of the shuttle made all his movements that much slower. His expression was carefully guarded as he examined the wings hanging off his shoulders. 

“Excellent.” 

Ratchet pulled a long wire out from the side, attached to a yellow latch. It was large for a human but small for a machine. He taped it to Optimus windshield with something looking suspiciously like duct tape. 

“Your launcher. Flip up to go up.”

“Understood.” 

Seeing Optimus with half of a shuttle stuck to his back was possibly the craziest thing you had seen since coming here, but that wasn’t saying much. 

“Does that- Hurt?” 

He looked surprised to see you there, but it only lasted a moment. 

“No,” he said slowly. “... It doesn’t.” 

It looked almost kind of pretty in a way. While he was turned towards you, you could see the black tips peeking out from the sides of his back. Almost like a pair of wings folded in. 

He turned back to the group, four somber faces watching him. 

People who had known him for longer than you could have imagined. You leaned your head against the back of the couch, too curious now to leave, and a little worried. 

“Bulkhead, Bumblebee, you will accompany me to the coordinates. Arcee, Ratchet, you will remain here. If backup is needed, you’ll be called.” 

Bumblebee nodded, determined. 

Bulkhead stepped into the circle. “Any chance the cons don’t show up?” 

Ratchet leaned back against the terminal. “It’s possible, but I have a feeling they’re keeping an eye on our frequencies.” 

“Agreed. The Psi project is completely useless to them if they only have one half, it is imperative that we prevent them from completing it.” 

Desperately you wanted to know what exactly this was, but you felt like a kid then, sitting at the table listening to the adults talk. To even ask somehow felt disrespectful, but the heavy silence in the room told you most of what you needed to know. 

This thing was dangerous. Bad enough to warrant soldering a space shuttle to Optimus’ back. 

You were beginning to like this less and less as the minutes ticked by. 

“It would be ideal if we could get our hands on the warhead part in one piece,” Ratchet said. “If I could get a good look at some of the scientist’s work, I might even be able to figure out who he was.” 

“I will try my best to bring it back to you, however I cannot allow it to fall into decepticon hands.” 

“I know. Good luck out there.” 

“Thank you, old friend. Activate the bridge.” 

The groundbridge coils heated with a hum, and green light appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. Even from where you were sitting, you could feel a bitterly cold wind blowing through, and something stung your face. Your sleeves had a dusting of something glittery. 

Snowflakes, you realized. 

You looked up in time to meet Optimus eyes. Just a stray glance. Before you could even smile, or offer a wave, or anything, he was heading back for the light. Bulkhead and Bumblebee followed close. 

Something about not saying goodbye left you with a bad feeling, but you did always have an overactive imagination. 

From the clear side of the monitor, you could see their pictures, and the wave forms of the communication links. Wind was already cracking through the line. 

While it wasn’t as good as being able to see what was happening, you would take all you could get. You grabbed a blanket from the floor and huddled up on the couch, ears straining to hear anything else.

* * *

They emerged onto a sheet of flat ice that seemed to stretch in every direction. 

Bumblebee held out a scanner and took point. 

“ _Just up ahead, 100 meters._ ” 

Bulkhead scratched his helm. “The thing moved?”

“The ocean currents must have carried it away from the original coordinates,” Ratchet said over the line. “You’ll have to go on foot.” 

Optimus and Bulkhead followed behind him. The wind blew hard, hard enough to pull at the shuttle wings. 

“Good weather for this time of year,” Bulkhead said with his hands stretched over his optics. 

“Any decepticon signals?” 

Bumblebee shook his head. 

“ _Nope. And this is the spot._ ” 

“Alright. Please stand back.”

One of Optimus’ hands folded out into a gun. There was a small clicking as he calibrated it, and then a continuous beam shot out. He cut a neat circular hole into the ice and pulled out the core like a cork. 

The water below was an inky black. 

Bulkhead whistled. 

“That’s a long way down.” 

Optimus didn't look any more excited about it. His mask covered his face with a ‘chink.’ 

“I will keep my comms open. Keep me informed of the situation here.” 

“ _Yes sir. Good luck._

“You got it. Happy swimming.”

“Thank you.”

Optimus stood over the hole and with little ceremony, jumped in. 

From the surface, there was just a little splash, and then nothing. And for some reason Bumblebee found it hard not to laugh. 

Bulkhead stared down into the hole. 

“He really sank, huh.” 

Maybe it was the nervousness, but there was a small, garbled wheezing noise from Bumblebee which he just as quickly contained. 

The water rushed to encase Optimus, and pulled him deeper and deeper under. He sank with all the grace of falling, his headlights barely penetrating the water rushing past him. 

Liquid filled his venting systems. It was uncomfortable at first, and it felt dangerously close to drowning, but soon the air was purged and the liquid replaced it. The reinforced piping held, and soon he was breathing underwater. 

His pedes hit the bottom and sent up a plume of sand. 

The timer had already started. 

Fifteen minutes before total system failure. 

A small scanner in his hand made muffled chirps, its screen showed a topographic layout of the ocean floor. It was his only guide down below. Though not a very accurate one. 

The warhead was not beneath him anymore. So, he started walking. A stray bubble or two floated out of his plates as he moved. 

Bulkhead’s voice crackled through the comms. “Hey boss.” 

Optimus kept waving the scanner. “Yes?” 

“Well, I saw your last handprint was gone and I just wanted to say congrats.” 

“ _Bulkhead you can’t just bring that kind of stuff up on a mission!_ ” 

“Why not? We’ve been so on the move I didn’t get a chance to tell him!”

“Thank you, Bulkhead.” 

“ _So ... She’s your finality?_ ”

“Now who’s rude,” Bulkhead nudged him. 

The scanner’s display shorted for a moment. “Correct.” 

Bumblebee had never been the best at reading Optimus, but there was something odd in his tone. He had not expected his stoic leader to jump up and down when he found his finality, but there was something guarded there. Like a soldier carefully marching to avoid showing a wound. 

She wasn’t any Ariel, but, Bumblebee could at least be happy for him. She seemed nice, from what little he knew of her. Kept to her own. He could respect that. His own prints were a different matter. Ariel had been his sole lingerer to date. The rest of his handprints had been covered by a similar shade of paint, though faint texturing remained. 

Fate was something Bumblebee had tried to avoid thinking about too much. There was nothing he could do about it. But regardless of the future, he knew he could control his actions. 

Bulkhead, similarly, had a few handprints left and likewise covered them. Very few autobots had kept them visible, for one reason or another. For some it was a pride thing, for others it was privacy. Others still were ashamed to think their lingerers or finality was potentially a decepticon. 

But Optimus had never covered his. By the time Bumblebee had met him, he had one left, and now he had none. 

Bulkhead chuckled over the comms. 

“Who would have thought?”

The scanner flickered again. Optimus gently tapped the back of it and the image stabilized. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but my current task requires a keen focus.”

“ _Yes sir._ ” 

“Yeah, sorry.” 

According to the scanner they were getting closer, but then it would flicker out again and the spot would appear in a different place. The current underwater was slow. Too slow to account for the changes. It had to be the scanner. Optimus required heavy modifications just to get down there, he should have accounted for his smaller tech. 

There was a swish of motion in the corner of his optics. 

In an instant, his ion canon was pointed into the dark. The water was still, though he could only see just past his own headlights. Slowly, he turned to take stock of his surroundings. 

His timer had wound down to 8 minutes. 

It flashed by again, close enough to the ground to leave a cloud of sand in its wake just beside his feet. 

“There’s something down here.” 

Bulkhead cupped his audial. 

“Did you just say there’s something down there?” 

“Correct, and I am having difficulty locating the warhead.” 

“ _Maybe it’s buried?_ ” Bumblebee chirped. 

“It’s possible, though I do not have very much time to dig.” 

Bumblebee and Bulkhead exchanged a weary look. It seemed their ‘grab and go’ mission was already lining up to become an ordeal. 

“Maybe we should leave and come back with some stuff to dig with.” 

There was a whirring in the distance. 

Bumblebee stared at the sky, his door wings raised defensively. 

A dark shadow emerged from the fog, and then another. As they approached, they took the shape of planes. 

“Cons!” 

“How many?” 

Optimus vented slowly, letting the water sift through him. He was good at keeping calm under pressure, keeping his movements slow and steady in the face of the unknown. 

But his spark was beating fast beneath it’s casing.

The creature whipped past him again, the barbs of it’s sharp, golden tail scraped against his arm before retreating to the dark. 

He ground his denta together, and kept looking, slow and steady.

It didn’t help that his headlights told the creature which direction he was facing. 

He turned just in time to see it surge towards him, its face made of layers of spinning, golden teeth. 

Sparks flew as he repelled the thing, pressing the flat of the blade against it and pushing down with his hand. His blade chipped with the scales that ground against it. 

And then it disappeared into the dark again. The scanner showed the thing circling slowly, looking for another chance. 

6 minutes, but now he was certain. This creature was the warhead. 

Above the water, Starscream landed on his pedes with a flourish, and four less graceful seekers touched down behind him. 

“ _Five, including Starscream._ ” 

Bulkhead stood between them and the hole in the ice. One hand was already a wrecking ball. 

“You’re not stupid enough to take a swim!” 

“Oh no,” Starscream approached them slowly. “But I imagine your diver will have to come back up eventually. — Attack!” 

The sounds of the battle above only made his servos tighten as he searched the water. He had to smoke this thing out as soon as possible, and get back to the others. 

5 minutes. The cold had long since removed his finer motor skills, but down here they didn’t do much good anyway. Step after step, he walked blindly, but the water was still. 

There was nowhere to hide in the icy plains. 

The seekers charged forward, guns blazing. It was only sheer, dumb luck that kept any of their shots from hitting. 

Laser fire pelted the ice and left the space around Bumblebee’s tires pockmarked with smoking holes. 

Bulkhead shielded his face in time to block a blow, but the back of his ankles were teetering on the edge of the hole Optimus had made. New plan then. 

“ _Guard the hole!_ ” 

“Got it!” 

Bumblebee shot forward between them and slipped out behind them. What he lacked in firepower he made up for with distraction. 

The cons spun around and focused their attention on him. Just long enough to let Bulkhead charge with a shout. 

The scanner beeped. The remote’s signal was rapidly approaching from behind. 

The buzzing sounded from right behind his helm. He turned just in time for the thing to latch onto his face with a crunch. 

Optimus’ pained cry sounded through the comms as the spinning blades shredded across his faceplate. 

“ _Optimus!_ ”

His fingers were clumsy with the cold but they still tore into the thing’s body, yanking whatever they could find and pulling it apart as fast as he could. Golden scales and parts sank in the space beside him. 

The creature screamed and shot back into the dark, leaving a trail of black oil in it’s wake. 

Optimus held his bleeding face and vented hard as blue energon clouded his vision. Thankfully, his mask had taken most of the damage, but there were still deep cuts running over his eyelids. 

“I’m fine... The remote... has a sophisticated security system...” 

He waved the cloudy water away, and transformed his other hand into a gun. 

If he couldn’t take the warhead in one piece, he could settle for its destruction. 

The creature shrieked in the distance. 

Bulkhead’s yanked the wing off of a seeker in a smooth motion. Energon spilled onto the ice. 

“Like that? Miko calls it the butterfly collector!” 

The bot shrieked, and scrambled away, but bulkhead grabbed him again and threw him back at his comrades. 

Starscream tried to run out of the way, but the stray seeker landed on top of his head with a definitive clank. 

Bulkhead punted the wings at them as an afterthought. 

The other seekers suddenly looked a little hesitant, and Bulkhead laughed. 

“Come on, I’m just getting warmed up.” He slammed his hands together with a heavy clank. 

Sixty seconds. 

The creature charged again, its horrible cry echoing between the ice and the sand. 

Optimus steadied his canon. His servos were stiff, and his small corrections resulted in shaking his entire arm. Even with targeting assist, he would have been screwed but he had shut down that system long ago. He narrowed his optics at the oncoming flurry of gold. 

It’s maw opened wide. Wide enough that he could see a black nerve circuit between the plates. 

The lights in his ion canon flickered. He fired. 

The shot moved into its mouth, illuminating the spinning blades towards the back of its throat, until it traveled all the way through. 

The creature unfolded in midwater and fell apart. Row after row of teeth and singed components. Its disconnected plates plinked against his and fell into the sand. Charred, and useless. 

Optimus bent over with shaking servos to take a sample of its armor, venting hard. 

10 seconds. 

He fumbled to flip the latch, but once he found it, orange flame and air shot out from the shuttle’s thrusters. 

After a few moments, he was heading upwards again towards solid ice. 

He raised his flickering canon weakly towards it, and cut a new sloppy hole, but the ice remained fixed. 

His helm crashed against the surface, but the force of the thrusters wasn’t enough to push it out of the way. 

And slowly, the flames died. 

A blue laser shot out from the ice, and grazed the last two seekers fighting back to back. 

“Prime! — He’s not gonna be able to punch through that!” 

“ _Get him out- I’ll take the birds!_ ” 

Bumblebee threw himself at the confused seekers with as much force as he could muster.

They both tumbled backward, and Bulkhead moved to the smoking ice. 

He brought his wrecking ball down on the ice and the thick core became snowy powder. 

Optimus optics were flickering just beneath the surface, his thrusters failing. 

He was already sinking again, and then he stopped with a violent jerk. 

Bulkhead pulled him out with one hand. But the puncture was too small, and the shuttle wings caught on the edges. 

“I’m so sorry about this!”

Bulkhead yanked with enough force to shear the wings off. The rails tore away from his frame in a burst of energon as he freed him from the water. 

“Ratchet we’re ready to go! Bee- Come on!”

The seekers and Starscream had already recovered, and they were readying their weapons once again when the portal appeared. 

Bumblebee raced through, canon fire whizzing over his hood, while Bulkhead ran as fast as he could with Prime over his shoulder. Energon flowed freely down his plates.

* * *

The groundbridge opened again. 

Stray fire pelted the concrete, hard enough to leave singe and then the bridge closed again. 

Slowly, you peered over the couch, your ears still ringing. 

Bulkhead was laying down Prime’s limp body onto the medical bay, his arms and back covered in glowing blue, and Ratchet was shouting something, but you realized your hearing had been completely shot. It sounded as though everyone were talking through a tunnel. 

“-lines, now!” 

“Got it!” Arcee planted a pair of wires into Ratchet’s hand, and the soldering tool in the other. 

You didn’t know what exactly you were looking at, but you knew enough to understand it probably wasn’t good. 

Something Ratchet moved caused Optimus’ head to loll slightly to the side, enough for you to see his face. His faceplate was covered in a mixture of blue blood and scratches, and water slowly leaked from his slightly parted mouth. 

You covered your mouth with your hands and tried to remember how to breathe. 

Stumbling you came down the steps, slowly, but a hand stopped you. 

Bumblebee kneeled beside you. 

“Beeeeep?” 

“I-I- I’m sorry- I don’t understand!” 

He nodded, and closed his eyes. 

The cell phone in your pocket vibrated. You almost dropped it just trying to unlock it.

# Bumblebee

####  **Today,** 10:50 PM

    It looks worse than it really is. Optimus got a little too cold out there and his systems froze up, but it’ll be fine.

You let out a shaking breath of relief, and sank down beside bumblebee. His armor was still covered with glittering frost, and a chill emanated from him. 

“Are- Are you okay?” 

He made a musical beep, and nodded.

    I’m okay. He got the worst of it.

“Did you ... Get the thingy?”

    I don’t think so. I don’t think the cons got it either though.

“I guess that’s good,” you said halfheartedly. Slowly you sank to the concrete, but Bumblebee shook his head. 

Your phone buzzed again.

    Ratchet will take care of him, you don’t have to stay here.

“Ah, thanks.” 

Neither of you moved. 

As ridiculous as it sounded, you were not prepared to accept that a 30-foot-tall robot was in fact, quite durable. Mostly because his pained scream still echoed between your ears. 

Bumblebee gave you a small glance, before he returned to Bulkhead’s side, waiting for their turn to get defrosted. 

You rose to your feet again, and slowly climbed back to your little perch on the second level. You wrapped the blanket around yourself and laid with your head on the armrest, tilted just enough to keep an eye on Optimus from the table. 

Not that you really wanted to. The more you looked, the more damage you could see. Chunks taken out of his shoulder, scratches on his arm plating, and blue liquid beading up on the scratches in a parody of blood. 

The work seemed to take hours. Ratchet’s flame tool was small, and he carefully used it to weld the metal back into place. Softening it until it was malleable, and then pushing it back into shape. The patches were silver as they cooled, and then red began to seep back into them. You thought it was a trick of the eye at first, but the more you watched, the more certain you were. His color was growing back into the patches. 

By the time Ratchet was backing away, all of the major punctures had been sealed. The missing pieces at the edges of his plating were still gone, but Ratchet didn’t seem concerned. 

There was a slow and steady sound as Optimus vented, eerily close to breathing. Ratchet’s shoulders sagged with relief before he turned to Bulkhead and Bumblebee, already picking up new tools. 

“He’s gonna be fine. He’ll recharge the last of the cold off and be good to go. You two still need to get defrosted.” 

By recharged you assume he meant sleep, and for the most part he appeared to already be sleeping peacefully, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly parted. Were he not resting on a medical berth it would have almost been peaceful. 

Your mind was in a daze as Ratchet treated Bulkhead and Bumblebee, but eventually they left too. 

The area was empty save for you and Optimus, and the glaring lights over him powered down and left the common area in the dark.

* * *

The winds had since died down in the Arctic, leaving only the expanse of white plains underneath the clear sky. 

Starscream stared at the hole, his hands on his hips. 

“Well?” 

With a small click, Soundwave’s sensor equipment slid back into place. He nodded. 

“So the warhead is still down there. I want it.” 

Knockout kept his arms crossed over his chassis. He looked thoroughly disgusted at the idea. 

“Lord Starscream, we have no one with the ability to stay underwater and gather the pieces.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s a suicide mission for a broken thing.” 

“Then we will _make_ someone ready. The autobots were able to do it with primitive equipment, surely you can-“

A crack. One of Soundwave’s tentacles latched onto the ice. He pulled on it a few times with his servo, but it remained stubbornly fixed. 

“Soundwave?” 

Without any hesitation, he jumped into the hole. 

“You moron-!” 

He was spared the rest of Starscream’s rant as the water filled his senses. He wasn’t waterproofed by any stretch, but he was sufficiently space proofed for harsher missions, and he would not need to go far. 

Lower and lower he sank, at a controlled rate, as the tentacle let him down. At about the halfway point, his second tentacle extended and landed on the sea floor. 

It kicked up sand and dirt as it scurried across the bottom, picking up whatever it could find. A flank. An antenna. A row of teeth. Slowly the pieces of the warhead came together in his hands, and when he could sense no more pieces of relevance, both tentacles began retracting. 

His helm popped up, nearly knocking Starscream in the face, and he brought himself back to the surface, the gold pieces in hand. 

Starscream looked ready to punish him, but as soon as he saw the pieces his grin returned. 

“Excellent work, Soundwave.” 

“With what? Collecting scrap?” Knockout shook his head. “No one can rebuild this except the scientist himself- and no one even knows who he is, or if he’s still alive.” 

“I’m well aware,” Starscream said stiffly. “But perhaps his … Unique inventions can help us locate him.”

* * *

It was a short nap, although you couldn’t remember even falling asleep. Slowly your eyes opened to a blue glow. 

At some point, Optimus had mass converted and was sitting on the other half of the couch, one arm resting against the top. He looked equal parts relaxed and exhausted, and you could feel the cold coming off him. 

You had to wonder why exactly he had chosen to do that, though the obvious answer was that the couch was closer than his berth. 

Slowly you sat up. 

“Hey. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

And he somewhat looked it. Even the scratches on his face seemed to be mostly gone, as though they had healed. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

“It’s not an issue. It’s late.” 

“Late?” 

“It is currently 4:51 AM.” 

You had work in about four hours. A soft groan escaped you, but you had other things to worry about right then. 

You unrolled yourself from your cocoon and tossed the blanket over him. 

“Here, it’s already kinda warm.” 

He was small enough for it to nearly cover all of him, although it couldn’t quite reach the bottom of his pedes. It took a little arranging to get it to stay over his chest, and when your fingers brushed over his plating you could feel how cold he still was. 

He looked a little surprised, but he didn’t fight it at all. All things considered, he looked pretty comfortable with his head peeking out. 

“Don’t move, I’ll go get another.” 

“There’s no need-“ 

“You’re freezing, come on.” You sighed. “I know that’s not comfortable. Even if you’re a robot.” 

There was the smallest ghost of a smile on his face. 

“Thank you.” 

He was so earnest, it almost seemed like you had agreed to give him a kidney instead of a blanket. You cleared your throat. 

“Uh- No problem.” 

Quickly you hurried off the platform to grab some more blankets from your room. Ones that didn’t smell like mothballs and paper. 

You gathered the blankets in a half daze and returned to the common area, only to find Optimus’ head already leaned back against the couch and his optics closed. 

Had you been feeling a little less sleep deprived and a little more polite, you probably would have left him there and gone back to your room. But something tugged at you when you did turn. The sounds. The battle. 

You tossed the other blankets over him carefully and settled on the couch a safe distance from him. It felt respectful enough. 

There was only the quiet sound of the computers, and the soft sound of his vents.


	5. Empty Rooms

“Yo, _____.” 

You knew that Californian surfer voice anywhere. 

“Brad,” you said slowly. “How nice it is to see you.” 

Brad was exactly how you would picture a man named Brad looking. Slightly tanned, with sun bleached hair and a constant sideways smile. One could never tell if his half-lidded gaze was the result of a hangover or a lack of sleep, or both. 

It did not help that he had a handprint smack in the center of his cheek. You hoped his soulmate gave him the hardest slap in his life. Unphased, he leaned against your cubicle. 

“You’ve been wearing V-necks lately, I like, I like.” 

“Wow! So glad, I wear them just for you.” 

“Woah, take it easy ma’am.” He bit his bottom lip. “Just saying it how I see it.” 

“Is there a reason you came here?”

“Yeah, yeah hang on.” He dug a crumpled-up memo from his pocket and handed it to you. “Boss wants to see you like, _pronto amiga._ ” 

The slip was a printout of one of your spreadsheets. It was almost entirely red with errors. Something you had turned in earlier that morning. 

You rubbed your eyes and sighed. 

‘ _Crap._ ’ 

“Hey so, I’ll see you for lunch?” 

“What? Lisa isn’t in?” 

“No,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “She found her man and she’s on her handprint honeymoon.” 

Right. It was typical for people to take a short leave after they found their soulmate. They would get to know each other, start laying down plans for a proper wedding. Your chest tightened. 

“Earth to _____? Hello?” Brad snapped his fingers in front of your face.

You pushed yourself away from him and cleared your throat. 

“That’s, that’s awesome. Good for her.” 

Standing from your chair triggered a wave of dizziness, but you masked it by leaning against the desk, and dusting the lint from your pants. 

“So, lunch?” 

Like a smart woman, you ignored him. 

The office you were looking for was at the end of the beige and florescent labyrinth. The dizziness followed, so you kept a hand hovering over the walls just in case. 

When you came to the door you steeled yourself, and then knocked. 

“Mr. Cobb?” 

“Come in.”

Albert Cobb could have been a stunt double for Danny DeVito in another life. In this one, he was the regional manager for Sherman Hardware Incorporated. 

He tilted his glasses down as soon as you peered in through the doorway. 

“Miss _____, have a seat.”

That was the absolute last thing you wanted to do, but like a good little corporate employee, you obeyed. 

“We need to talk about your work lately.”

He laced his fingers together and stared at you over his glasses. 

“It’s been subpar. That’s not like you.” 

Despite having been shot at in the last month, this somehow felt miles worse. Your throat threatened to close up. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“What’s going on? You’re coming to work late, you look like the cat dragged you across the mud when you’re here, and half the time I’m talking to you, you don’t listen. What is it? PCP? LSD? Weed?”

‘ _Why does everyone think I’m a pothead?_ ’ 

It was none of those things. You had not been able to get much sleep ever since Optimus returned from his diving mission. In fact, the only solid three hours you had was when you were next to him. 

The night of, you were somewhat functional. But over the course of the week, the image of him, his mouth slightly ajar and leaking water, haunted you. It was stained on the back of your eyelids. But you were immensely grateful the kids had not been around to see it. 

It did not help that your time together since then had almost been nonexistent. 

Between energon missions and scouting, and more things you did not understand, you hardly got a chance to see him alone. It was weighing on you. 

And any time he left, anytime he was not there, you were bracing for him to return a wreck again. Sleep evaded you when he was not next door, and the times that he was, you were always waiting for him to leave again. 

Even then, sitting in Mr. Cobb’s office, you were wondering what you were going to come home to. Optimus’ life was dangerous. Disconnected from yours and it scared the hell out of you. 

None of this you could explain to your boss. For one because he would probably order you to take a drug test. And two, you knew the government was absolutely listening in on you. 

“Uh, no, sir.” You tugged at your shirt. “There’s been some pretty major changes in my life recently and it takes up a lot of my time.” 

Not a lie, but he did not look convinced. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. And you meant it. “I’ll try to do better.” 

“Good, because we’re all up for review this week.” 

“I understand sir-“ 

“Christ,” he pulled out a wad of napkins from his box. “Go take care of that.” 

“What?”

You felt something dribble across your lip and dabbed your fingers against it. Blood, you realized. And it had already spotted your shirt. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re dismissed.” 

You hurried along with the napkins pressed to your face. Luckily, no one stopped you or saw the blood. Unfortunately, the entire office just saw you run out of the manager’s office with napkins held up to your face, so you knew already that rumors were going to be flying. 

It took half an hour for the bleeding to stop. You scrubbed at the blood left on the sink and watched it slowly swirl around the drain. The last thing you wanted to do was subject the janitor to that mess. With the lukewarm water you cleaned yourself the best that you could, but the stains had already set onto your shirt. 

You let out a long breath against the counter. 

Then you looked up to the mirror. Your eyes were a solid pink, your bags had bags, and the color had faded from your cheeks and lips. 

You did not feel any better either. Your limbs were sore in ways that did not make sense. Dizziness followed your every move and left you leaning against doorways and walls, and even just standing there you felt out of breath. 

Sleep, you told yourself. You just needed some sleep. And a humidifier. 

The base was empty as usual when you returned. Mostly empty. Ratchet stood at the monitor with his back to you, as usual. The same gold cube was hooked up to it as before, and beside it was a golden shard on a glowing plate. But, you knew better than to ask questions. 

Likewise, the rest of the base was still. It was not unusual for the kids to be out with their bots by the time you returned. 

Tonight, you were somewhat grateful they were gone. You still felt like you were just on the verge of crying, and you were sore and slow. You stayed close to the walls to keep your balance. 

The door to Optimus’ quarters slid open, and light poured out into the hall. You were hopeful for a moment, but he was not there. Only his things, and they were laid out somewhat haphazardly. As though he had left in a hurry. 

Your stomach lurched at the thought.

You did not feel particularly interested in eating or being awake, so you took the in between route. 

There was a bottle of unopened wine in your top shelf, only there for the few recipes that needed it. It was bitter and lukewarm, but it had been cheap. You kicked off your heels and headed back into his room. 

Since moving in together you really had not seen much of him, and it was strange. Some tiny part of you had hoped that you would. That you could get to know him better, more than just curt facts about his life. 

You wanted to know about Ariel, about Bumblebee, about Cybertron, about the war. You were sick of these small glimpses into the impossible, you were starving for the full course of strange that laid behind his eyes. You were a creature who loved stories. Even better when it was his voice telling them, low enough to feel like it was vibrating the air in your lungs. 

Feeling brave you perched yourself on the same bench as before, the bottle in hand. You were going to wait for him, and then, you were going to have a talk about this. About all of it. Or maybe you just needed someone to listen. 

You were wondering when the axe was finally going to fall on you at work. If your conversation with Mr. Cobb was anything to go by, your days were already numbered. 

But the longer you sat there, the more your determination waned. 

From what little you could glean, Optimus was important, possibly pivotal in this alien war. He was balancing human and Cybertronian relations when one half of them were determined to destroy the planet. Not to mention the demands of his team and the needs of the base. 

Despite this, Optimus found his tiny, squishy, insignificant finality here on earth and _she_ had the audacity to cry about work. Just what every damaged war hero wanted to come home to. 

You wiped your eyes on your sleeve. 

‘ _Toughen the hell up, buttercup._ ’ 

Drinking never solved anything, you knew better. Truthfully, you were a little ashamed now that you looked at the half empty bottle. You corked it again and set it under the bench. 

But you did not feel like waiting. Even if Optimus came back, you did not have faith in the current connection between your logical brain and your mouth. 

Before you could sulk back to your little room, a shriek echoed down the hallway. It sounded very much like Miko. 

Your heart seized, already fearing the worst. 

You ran out into the hallway, and before you knew it you were back in the common area. 

Bulkhead and Arcee were just coming out of the groundbridge, with an exhasperated Jack following behind. 

The medical berth was thankfully empty. 

“— It was awesome!” Miko pumped her fists, sitting atop Bulkhead’s shoulder. “He totally ruined those cons!” 

Jack threw his hands up. “You almost got smashed-“ 

“But I didn’t!” 

Arcee stepped past you again, this time her leg nearly grazing your face. You stumbled backwards and out of the way. But you felt a too beaten to even protest. 

Ratchet turned to her from his terminal. 

“Did you find anything?” 

“Just this.” 

She held out a knife to him. Small in comparison to herself, but it was no doubt nearly your height. It had a golden handle accented with several clear spots that ran all the way through, and each connected. 

Ratchet raised an eyebrow at it, but Arcee simply shrugged. 

“Optimus‘ll know.”

“Hey uh, where is he? By the way?” 

“He’s in New York with Bee investigating another signal,” Bulkhead answered, stretching his arms above his head. “Has he asked for backup?” 

“No,” Ratchet said. “I’ll let you know if he does.” 

Miko seemed somewhat disappointed by this. “Aww.” 

You swallowed. 

“Uh, what’s he doing in New York?”

* * *

The hills in Thurston, New York stretched high overhead, making the little winding road feel less like a road and more like a valley laid between the barren trees. Their headlights stretched ahead into the dark. 

Bumblebee took the lead, with Optimus following a respectful distance behind him on the open road. 

It was peaceful. Simple. And barely any other cars out that night. 

Had Optimus not been there, Bumblebee would have been tempted to let his tires loose. As it were, he rolled down his windows and let the fresh air fill his cab. 

“The signal isn’t far.” A monitor in Optimus dash blinked. 

Continued analysis of the map gave new insights into the artifacts on earth, and they discovered two signals matching its frequency. One in Hawaii, which he had assigned Arcee and Bulkhead to find, and the other here. This one was subtly different, it hummed less like a static thing and more like a life form. 

“ _This scientist, what are we going to do if we find him?_ ” 

“We will try to gather information about his work and it’s purpose, and attempt to rally him to the autobot cause.” 

Bumblebee was silent. 

He had heard stories of this scientist, but never a description of his face or his armor. Not even a name. Of everyone he had tried to talk to about it, no one knew who he was. They knew him only by the aftermath. 

The thought of working with him on the team was unpleasant at best, and nightmare inducing at worst. He had never been fully able to remove the images of the forced combiner from his memory. All twisted limbs and metal fused together in unholy ways. Each of the mouths screaming mechanical wails. 

He shuddered and turned his attention back to the road. 

The signal blipped faster now. Ever closer. 

It eventually led them off road, into the forest. Effectively the middle of nowhere. 

The terrain was too narrow for Optimus to traverse in on foot or on wheel, so he was forced to convert to Bumblebee’s size and walk alongside him. 

“ _Not far_ ,” the scout said. “ _Hey uh, maybe we can ask Ratchet to drop us a little closer next time? I know he’s doing his best but, small request._ ” 

“I ordered the drop be at a wide radius.” 

“ _Oh- I didn’t mean to- Sorry._ ” 

“You are free to speak earnestly with me, Bumblebee.” Optimus pushed a branch away from his face. The wood gave a low groan, but didn’t snap. “I was concerned about the scientist detecting our ground bridge and fleeing before we could reach him.” 

“ _That makes sense._ ” Bumblebee kept walking. 

Under normal circumstances he would have loved to be on a walk with him, even on a mission, but his spark felt heavy. 

“ _Since we’re speaking freely, I’m worried about this guy. He seems dangerous._ ” 

“I understand your concern, but we cannot allow him to fall into decepticon hands. His morality is grey at best. He is likely to follow whichever cause will grant him the most leeway for his research.” 

Bumblebee liked the sound of that even less. The autobots would never allow him to continue creating the things that he had. It seemed inevitable for him to become a decepticon. 

But the ever-persistent hope in Optimus words kept him going too. Because if anyone could swing this guy to their side, it was Optimus. 

“ _Okay._ ” Bumblebee said quietly. “ _Should be right ahead. 10 meters._ ” 

Ten meters ahead was nothing but more trees. 

Naturally, they both started to poke around the area. Looking beneath the leaves, in the branches. Anything that might be the source of the signal. 

Bumblebee shook his helm. 

“ _There’s nothing here._ ”

“Not quite.” 

Carefully, Optimus extracted a gold, hexagonal prism from a hole burrowed into the tree. A single red light on it flashed intermittently. It was devoid of all markings, but that only made him more certain. 

“It seems we have been ‘duped.’”

* * *

“Do you share a bed?” 

You huddled deeper into your blanket. 

Sitting on the couch, watching a poorly dubbed Godzilla film was not exactly what you were interested in doing, but if you wanted a shot at catching Optimus when he came back then this was where you needed to be. 

Unfortunately, Miko was there too, and somewhat insistent on asking questions about your arrangements. 

“Helloooo?”

“No, we don’t share a bed,” you snapped. “And honestly? We barely share a room.” 

“You share a room?” 

“No, yes, that’s not,” you sighed. “What do you want me to say Miko? I’ve been living with him for a month and we barely see each other.” 

That was apparently not the answer she, nor anyone else was expecting. And you now had three sets of wide, sad eyes looking at you. 

You were too tipsy to deal with this. Or not tipsy enough. 

The groundbridge spared you any more prodding from the children. 

You turned around, heart racing as Bumblebee drove through the portal, followed by Optimus. Never in your life did you think you would be so happy to see a semi-truck. 

As soon as they were through, the two of them unfurled back into their robot modes. There was no visible damage from what you could see, and the tension slowly uncoiled in you. 

Optimus stood tall, the lighting leaving stark, curved reflections on his armor. You could just faintly see the small flecks of metal in the paint. It was rather pretty actually, and then you realized that you had actually been ogling his finish. 

‘ _I can’t actually be that tipsy._ ’ 

It seemed his wounds had healed completely though, so that was nice. 

He tilted his helm towards you, and some of the worry that had lined his optics seemed to fade. He even managed a small smile, the kind that made you believe that maybe things were not so bad. Maybe even good. His mere presence made you feel at ease again. 

This silent exchange did not slip past Miko one bit. 

_Click._

“You’re back,” Ratchet looked up at him hopefully. “Did you find the scientist?” 

And then it was over. 

Optimus face fell back into its usual stoic and unreadable configuration, and you were once again relegated to observer. 

He reached underneath his windshields in a motion that looked suspiciously like reaching up a shirt, to pull out a gold, hexagonal prism. 

“I’m afraid not. All we found was this.” 

He held it out to Ratchet, who quickly took it and began hooking it up to various things beside his monitor. For him, it seemed the work never ended. 

“I’ll get back with you about that. For now, take a look at this.” 

Ratchet pulled the knife from its spot on the scanners, and set it in Optimus’ hand. 

“We found it in Hawaii, had to fend off some cons while we dug for it.” Bulkhead slammed his fists together. “But we showed ‘em the way out.” 

“No senior officers showed up, but it wasn’t pretty.” Arcee crossed her arms over her chest. “What is it?” 

He seemed curiously pleased at it, examining it over the flat of his palm, and running a finger over the blade portion with a ‘ _shnk_.’ 

“The Heliotropic knife. I had been informed that it had been lost during the raid of Iacon.” 

Small beads of energon formed where he had sliced his finger. It was fascinating to watch for some reason, the blue pearls of liquid resting on the metal. Not entirely unlike a paper cut. 

The entire team was transfixed as he squeezed down on his hand to make it flow quicker. But the sight of it threatened to make you sick. 

Before any drops could make it to the ground, he pressed it against the clear crystal on the blade. Instantly, it took the color of his energon. There was a quiet, high pitched hum, and the edge began to glow white hot. 

“This knife was designed to be powered by warm energon, preferably live.”

Ratchet laughed, actually laughed. 

“So that’s what it is. I’ve heard about it. Some people think it was an art project meant to make some statement about violence. I think it was just a sick experiment.”

The light flickered out as the blue began to give way to clear crystal. The blade cooled again. 

In one smooth motion, Optimus spun the blade in the center, and held the handle to Arcee. 

“Regardless, it’s a good find.” 

She took the handle between her fingers like some sacred gift. You supposed in a way that it was. 

“Thank you.” 

There was a small glance shared between the two of them, like a proud father getting to read a good report card. You could tell that behind the hard exterior, she soaked it up. 

Business resumed. Optimus placed his hands on his hips. 

“While the scientist’s whereabouts remain elusive, the fact remains that many of his inventions have been buried here on earth. For now, we will continue to track down and acquire as many of these as possible.” 

He nodded towards the knife. 

“Not all of them are as dire as the Psi project, but they should be tracked and stored all the same.”

The bots all nodded resolutely. 

“And while our work is only just beginning in this matter, I want to thank you for your excellent performance regarding the Psi project. Had the decepticons been able to complete it, it could have meant the end of this world, or any other.” 

Miko pumped her fist. 

“World didn’t end party- Whoop whoop!” 

Bulkhead, similarly, looked ready for that. 

“I’ll keep you posted on what I find,” Ratchet said. “Ideally, we get to these things before the cons or the human government does.” 

“Agreed. Thank you, old friend.” 

Ratchet shrugged, but you could see the smile in his eyes. 

“So we’ve got some spare energon, the world’s not going to blow up, and we got the knife.” Arcee listed out, counting down on her fingers. 

Bulkhead pumped his fist. “World’s not ending party!” 

Bumblebee chirped happily, raising his doorwings with his servos. 

‘ _They’re all just a bunch of big kids_ ,’ you thought, rather fondly. 

But while the kids were making party plans, Optimus had already disappeared. You saw a flash of blue disappear into the hallway, and you struggled to get your blanket off in time to follow. 

Raf raised an eyebrow but he was quickly brought back into the lively conversation with the other kids. 

Optimus moved rather quickly for such a large bot. You found yourself chasing his shadow all the way back to your room. 

At which point he finally paused, and peered down at you. 

“Hello, _____.” 

You swallowed thickly, suddenly realizing how stupid it was to chase him down for some time alone when you were still kind of drunk, and because of that, you kind of wanted to cry, or scream, or cuddle, or really anything drastic that would end badly. 

He said your name again, questioningly, and you could see the tiredness beneath his eyes. The logical part of your brain kicked in, and your mouth dried up. 

Logically, you needed to politely excuse yourself and let him get some needed rest. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” you said quietly. 

“And you.” 

You swallowed thickly. 

Here he finally was, where you had wanted him to be, and you were drunk and dizzy and tired. Things he should not have to put up with. 

Despite your heart’s best intentions, you backed away. 

“I think, I’m going to go to bed soon.” 

“I understand. Sleep well.” 

That was probably the first time he had said ‘sleep’ and it was also pretty cute. 

As you hurried away back to your mouse hole, he settled himself at his desk with the mound of data pads. By the way he leaned his head against his hand and read through them with a deep sigh, you got the feeling it was not recreational reading. 

Still. Even stressed, and hunched over, eyes moving over the words, he looked pretty. The warm light from his giant desk lamp made everything seem closed together, cozy. A part of you wanted to curl up on his lap, the sober part of you shut the door before you could execute any part of that thought. 

You liked him. 

He was a thirty-foot-tall robot that turned into a semi-truck, and you liked him. To the point of missing him in his absence. And in typical you fashion, you could not even muster the guts to talk to him after nearly watching him die. 

Every single part of this was insane. 

In the common area, the party was in full swing. The baseline of ‘caramelldansen’ thumped through the floor as Miko tried to chase Bullhead down to change it. 

“Stop it!” 

“I like it! It’s punchy!” 

“It’s lame- Give me the iPod!” 

Arcee looked about as pleased with it as Jack, but Raf was engrossed in something on his laptop. 

Jack flopped down next to him. “Hey buddy. Whatcha doing?” 

Raf pushed his glasses up his face. “Looking at dating advice.” 

“Woah, already?” 

“Not for me, for them.” He nodded to the hallway. 

Jack stifled a laugh behind his sleeve. Raf, despite being tiny, already looked determined to run a complete Dr. Phil style intervention in the base if he had to. 

“Come on that’s adult business, it’s their job to work it out.” 

“Don’t you feel kinda bad about it?” 

Jack sighed. 

“I mean, a little.” 

“Imagine if you found your soulmate and you never even talked.” 

Another dry laugh. “Way ahead of you.” 

“What?” 

“I’m unmarked. It’s never gonna happen for me.” Jack said, the sadness thinly veiled. “But it does bum me out, for them.” 

“Who cares,” Arcee snapped. “It’s their problem, let them sort it out.” 

Jack raised an eyebrow. 

“Touchy subject?” 

“It’s not touchy, she’s just another housemate.” She crossed her arms and stared down at the hallway where you had disappeared. “She gets in the way.” 

Raf and Jack exchanged a mutual ‘Uh, what’ glance. 

“So, what are you planning to do? Go full parent trap on them?” 

Even Miko was interested now. She leaned over the railing and rocked on her heels to the beat. 

“You want them to get married on a yacht?” She held her phone up to her ear. “Hello, big and tall? Do you have a size 400 tuxedo?” 

“I dunno, I just feel bad for them.” Raf sighed. “Optimus does so much for the team, for earth. I just want to help.” 

Ratchet peered over the console, an eyebrow raised. 

“Might I remind you that the last thing Optimus needs is someone meddling with him and his finality?” 

Raf looked a little guilty, and then shut his laptop. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

Jack laid a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, the thought’s nice.” 

“He’s perfectly capable of handling it on his own,” Ratchet said. “More than capable.” 

Miko’s eyes widened. “Are you saying he’s got game?” 

Ratchet rolled his eyes. “Well I’m certainly not saying he _doesn’t_.” 

Miko gagged. “Gross.” 

“What?” 

“Optimus is like our dad, that’s so ew.” 

“Doesn’t matter. The girl’s going to be gone in another month, tops,” Arcee said. “She’s not cut out for this.” 

“You sound happy about it,” Miko said. 

“So, what if I am?” 

Miko raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s your beef with the newbie?” 

There was a long pause as the two stared at each other. Jack swallowed and stood slowly, scared that any wrong move might set everything off. 

But Arcee faltered first, standing in a small huff before shifting into a motorcycle. 

“Nothing. I’m going on patrol.”

* * *

The pieces of the Psi project hung in the laboratory like a skeleton display. The warhead was conical, its layers of teeth expanded to show the inner tracking mechanisms, although it was missing its nose. And the container was behind it, hanging with its pieces ajar to show the inner components. 

Knockout didn’t believe in making waves at work, or trying too hard. Work was work. The Decepticons happened to pay better than the Autobots, and at the very least there was competitive ladder climbing. 

But the Psi project presented a unique dilemma. Not that Knockout was some moral example, but no one quite liked the thing. More than once he had caught a guard making an arch shape around the entrance of his laboratory, as though it radiated an infectious miasma. 

Far from it. In its current state, the once legendary bomb was little more than a holiday display. 

But it did reveal more about the scientist. For one, that he used neither Decepticon nor Autobot standards in his circuit design. 

The motherboards that had survived in the warhead were completely alien in nature, with circular gold patterns stretching across the surface. Logically, it meant that there was less distance between connected components. A circle’s perimeter would always be less than a square’s with an equal diameter. 

But he knew of no integrated circuit fabrication lab from earth to Cybertron capable of circular wiring, and he was not ready to accept that it was done by hand. 

Curiouser and curiouser. 

Starscream examined the broken thing in the silent lab with his hands behind his back. He made slow, dramatic circles around it, his heels clicking with every step. 

“What have you found so far, doctor?” 

“ _Read my report_ ,” he grumbled, before clearing his vox. “The Psi project is completely inert. I’ve got no way to repair it, and it won’t take any substitute for the payload. It’s dead.” 

“How unfortunate,” Starscream said. 

He hooked a talon beneath a row of teeth and turned it towards him. There were singe marks on the bottom of the ring, but the piece remained solid. In fact, now that he got a proper look at it, nearly all the armor was still intact. It was only the computational array that had been turned into charcoal. 

He smiled. 

“If you can’t get it to function, can you at least get it to _appear_ operational?”

A rich laugh escaped Knockout. 

“Oh, my liege.” He rested a hand over his well-buffed chest. “You know I’m far better at aesthetics than repair. Of course I can, with a little buffing and some lights.” 

“Do it.” 

“Ah, Lord Starscream.” 

“Yes, what is it?” 

“Behind you.” 

All former dignity was lost when Starscream turned around to an uncomfortably close Soundwave. He managed not to scream entirely like a little girl, but rather like a scared little boy from the English countryside. 

“Soundwave,” he laughed nervously, before regaining his composure. “What is it?” 

Images of you flashed up on his visor. Specifically, you, and Optimus. 

“So, Optimus adopted a human, all the Autobots have their pets. What of it?” 

Readouts appeared. Signal analysis. It showed that in a sea of static and noise, that you were like the sound of a bell. Ringing clearly above the chaos. 

Knockout leaned against his berth. 

“Interesting. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that one has a spark. Or something like it.” 

“Or a power source.” Starscream tapped his talon against his lip.

Soundwave nodded and extended a long talon towards the darkest part of the lab, where Megatron’s form silently rested. 

With an acidic glare, Starscream followed his gaze. 

“You... Think we can use this girl to revive our, poor, fallen master?” 

He nodded. 

Knockout and Starscream exchanged wry glances. In current company, they could not speak their minds, but they did not have to. 

“If she is under the care of Optimus there’s no doubt it will be difficult to capture her. Of course, in the interest of our master, I will need you to devise suitable plans.” 

He cleared his throat, and stood a little taller, his wings perked. 

“But put them on the back burner, we wouldn’t want it to ... Interfere with our current objective.” 

There was a long silence as Soundwave stared forward, his mask devoid of any meaningful emotion. Despite not having eyes, it felt as though he were staring right through him, reading the contents of his spark like a teenage girl’s diary. 

And then, Soundwave turned on his heel, and left the laboratory. 

Starscream’s wings sagged with relief as soon as the doors closed again.


End file.
